


All About Timing

by reachfortheschuyler



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Camelot, Dark!OutlawQueen, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Hood-Mills Family, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Outlaw Bandit, Outlaw Queen - Freeform, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-03-08 08:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13454010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reachfortheschuyler/pseuds/reachfortheschuyler
Summary: Outlaw Queen and Hood-Mills family oneshots and post-ep fics from all across the seasons, in no particular order.Originally published on ffn.





	1. The Next Turn

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place sometime in Season 5B when they are in the Underworld.

It’s probably early morning. It’s hard to tell down here. If ‘here’ is even really ‘down,’ that is. Either way, it’s early enough in the morning that the sky is still an unsettling shade of purple, and early enough that when Regina rolls over, there should not be an empty spot next to her. It’s early enough that even forest-dwelling thieves shouldn’t be awake and yet, it appears hers is.

She takes a slow breath, blinking against the bleariness of sleep and double checks to make sure Henry is still where he’s supposed to be. If the soft snores coming from above her head are any indication, he hasn’t budged since last night. She cranes her neck to glance around the camp and it would seem no one has budged at all. No one except Robin.

Regina sits up and rolls her head from side to side until she hears a crack in her neck. Why can’t their ‘adventures’ come with Egyptian cotton and memory foam? Of course, Robin had been a decent enough substitute and had Regina not gotten a very sound night of sleep, she might have felt a tad bit bad about lying almost completely on top of him. Although somehow, Robin managed to slip away without waking her. Stealthy.

Regina shivers against the brisk morning air, the fire having died some time in the night. She stands and pulls the wool blanket she and Robin had been sharing around her shoulders, careful not to disturb anyone else as she quietly steps over twigs and leaves. She may not be a tracker like Snow or Robin, but she knows her soulmate. And she has a sneaking suspicion as to where he might be.

Their camp isn’t far from the graveyard. Maybe a couple hundred yards into the forest that skirts the outer edge of the cemetery and so Regina finds herself among headstones and mausoleums soon enough. She avoids reading the names, not out of fear she’ll recognize some of them, but out of fear that she won’t. It’s bad enough so many people are down here because of her. It’s even worse she doesn’t remember half of them.

She spots him a few rows back from Hook’s grave, his back to her as he sits alone in the grass. She’s not a thief or a bandit, she’s not an expert on sneaking up on people, so he hears her approach, he must, but he doesn’t look up when she’s next to him, tail of the blanket brushing the ground. “Morning,” she murmurs with a sniff, the cold air making her nose run.

“Good morning,” Robin answers, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Regina replies, sitting down next to him. Her knee bumps into his, but still he doesn’t look at her. She reaches for his hand, dropping it when his frozen fingers touch hers. “Jesus, Robin, you’re freezing.” She shrugs the blanket off her shoulders and throws part of it over his, shifting closer to him so they can share the warmth of the wool. “How long have you been out here?”

Robin shrugs, pulling the blanket more fully over his shoulder and bringing the corner close to his chest. “Probably long enough,” he sighs.

“What do you mean?” Regina asks, reaching for his free hand again and holding it in her lap.

Robin doesn’t answer for a long moment before shaking his head. “She’s not here,” he states simply, eyes trained on the ground.

Regina furrows her brow and looks for the first time at the grave they’re seated in front of, only to see no headstone at all. It takes a moment, but then she realizes. She’s not the only one who has loved ones in need of closure. “Oh, Robin,” she breathes, wrapping an arm around his back under the blanket, her head finding his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head again. “I thought… I had hoped she’d be here. So I could apologize for… everything, I guess.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Regina insists quietly, squeezing his hand.

Robin laughs bitterly. “I don’t? For the past four months, I’ve done nothing but besmirch her memory. I’ve dishonored her, I’ve completely erased her from our son’s mind. Wherever she is, she probably hates me. And I don’t blame her. I deserve-”

“Stop it.”

“Regina-”

“No.” She lifts her head from his shoulder and looks at him directly. “You are not responsible for any of that.”

Robin shakes his head. “You keep telling me that.  _ Everyone _ keeps telling me that. ‘It’s Zelena’s fault, it’s all Zelena’s fault.’ And if that’s true, why do I feel so bloody guilty?” He shrugs the blanket off and stands, taking a few steps away before walking back toward her. “I can’t get away from feeling guilty. I felt guilty when I left you for Mari- Zelena and then guilty again when I couldn’t tell her I love  _ you _ because  _ she _ was frozen.” He turns away again, frustratedly messing up his hair. 

“I felt guilty when I had to leave you again and then guilty the entire two months I was in New York because I was with  _ her _ , but thinking of you. And then I felt guilty when you found me and guilty when I wasn’t sure if I wanted my daughter and guilty when I realized I did because I knew it would hurt you.” His voice cracks and he swallows, turning back to face her. 

“And now I feel guilty because I am here, traipsing around the Underworld while my son and daughter are back in Storybrooke without me. And I can apologize to you until I run out of air because you’re here- alive- with me, but I can’t… I can’t even tell Marian that I’m sorry because she’s not here,” he finishes on a choked whisper.

Regina swallows and stands, leaving the blanket on the ground. “Robin,” she says softly, taking the few short steps that separate them until she’s right in front of him. She grasps one of his hands and then reaches up to touch his cheek, waiting until he finally looks at her. “You do not need to apologize to me or to anyone,” she states firmly. “And I think Marian feels the same way.”

“You can’t know that,” he argues feebly.

“I do know that,” Regina insists. “And you know why?”

He shakes his head.

“Because if she wanted an apology, if she held any of this against you, she’d be here,” Regina explains gently. “But she’s not. She’s someplace good and wonderful and she’s at  _ peace _ , something I’m sure she wants for you more than anything.”

Robin sniffs and swallows. “Peace,” he spits bitterly. “Considering the turmoil my life has been lately, I don't think that's possible.”

Regina rakes her eyes over his face for a moment, the laugh lines she’s come to know by heart now etching his face with misery instead of joy. Not for the first time in all these months they’ve been together, her heart breaks for him, suffering at the hands of someone who had no right to cause him so much pain. 

“You told me something once, a long time ago, before all this,” she starts softly, pressing her torso closer to his, both to be nearer to him and to fight against the chill in the air. “When we were in the library and I was at my wits’ end trying to find happiness after I had lost it so many times, you found that page. That picture of us from another lifetime, another story. And you know what you said?”

Robin exhales slowly. “Tell me,” he murmurs, moving an arm to wrap around her waist.

“It means you’re not doomed to suffer,” Regina echoes. “There’s a bright future waiting for you around every turn, even if you miss one.” She skirts her hand around to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. “That was true for me then, and it’s true for you now. Yeah, life has sucked lately. But it’s not going to stay that way forever. We’re together and we have the boys and the baby. There’s a bright future waiting for us.” She shrugs. “So we’ve missed a couple turns along the way. It doesn’t matter now.” She leans up and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. “This next turn is ours. We’ve just got to make the decision to take it.”

Robin rests his forehead against hers, breathing deeply for several moments. “I’m willing to follow you around any turn. I just… I wish I could talk to her one last time. Ask for her forgiveness or her blessing or something. I feel like I can’t move on knowing I’m leaving her in the past without clearing the air. My last memories of her are tainted and I don’t want to remember her like that.”

“Then you can remember her by this- that she’s not here because she doesn’t need to be,” Regina replies. “Her moving on is absolution. She doesn’t blame you. You’ve told me about how kind her heart was and this is a perfect example of that. Remember her for her heart and how even in death, she never wavered from who she truly was.  _ That’s _ something to remember her by, not the mockery that Zelena made her out to be.”

Robin closes his eyes and nods, staying quiet for a minute before weaving his fingers into her hair. “It’s not exactly the peace I was hoping for,” he admits quietly.

“I know it’s not,” Regina murmurs. “But it’s something. And that’s better than what you had before, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And maybe… maybe being here, seeing that she was able to move on, maybe that’s what I needed. She’s not suffering, she’s someplace good.”

Regina hums her agreement. “She is. And now maybe you can get to someplace good, too.”

An echo of a smile comes to his lips. “I take it you’ll be in this good someplace?”

She breathes a laugh and nods, sliding her arms around his waist underneath his hoodie, soaking in his (albeit dwindling) warmth. “Wherever you want to go, I’ll be there.”

Robin places another kiss on her forehead and then a second one on her lips, wrapping his arms around her back to hold her tightly against him. Regina tucks her head under his chin, breathing deeply against the fabric of his shirt. It’s funny- everything down in this hellhole seems to be backwards and distorted, but the one thing she’s found that has stayed the same is the woodsy smell of her soulmate.

Robin squeezes her tighter for a long moment and then releases, sliding his hands down her arms to intertwine their fingers. He looks up at the sky, the strange purple starting to give way to the unsettling orange of daytime. “We should probably head back before we’re missed,” he muses, bending down to pick up the blanket. He shakes it out and wraps it around her shoulders, kissing the tip of her nearly numb nose.

As they pick their way through the rows and rows of headstones, Regina takes the opportunity to study his face once more. There’s still a hint of misery, a shadow of the guilt he’s desperately trying to put behind him, but there’s something else now too. Something that seems freer, calmer, and more like the Robin she knew before everything went to shit. She wraps her arms around his middle as they walk, squeezing tightly when he lands a kiss on her hair. Their road hasn’t been an easy one, but a new turn is coming up and she’s positive it will lead them both to someplace good.


	2. Fear of a Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in 5B in the Underworld

She needs chalk. Of all the things Regina had thought she'd need in the Underworld, chalk wasn't one of them. But now she does. Desperately, in fact. She needs chalk to mark the elevator door with ancient symbols from a spellbook so she can break through Hades’s protection spell, but it seems there is no chalk anywhere in this godforsaken realm. She's gone through almost every drawer in this library and has not a single stick to show for it. And if the faint red tint to the sky is any indication, she's running out of time until morning arrives and Hades potentially with it.

“Looking for something?”

Regina snaps her head up at the voice, muscles tensing in surprise but relaxing when she sees the owner of the voice. It's just Robin.

“Yes, I am. What are you doing here?” she asks, opening another drawer in the checkout desk. “I thought you were heading to the woods.”

“Snow wanted to watch the baby for a little while before I take her,” Robin explains, walking from the front door to the desk. “I think she's missing Neal quite a bit. Figured we could spare just a few more hours.” He smiles. “Besides, that means I get to see you for a time before I have to go.”

Regina suppresses a grin as she moves around the contents of the drawer, still no chalk making an appearance. “If you're here to distract me-”

“I’m here to help you,” Robin interrupts. “I ran into Emma outside. She said you were working on a difficult spell. Something that might let us into Hades’s lair underground?”

Regina nods, reaching her hand all the way back in the drawer. “Ah ha!” she exclaims triumphantly, pulling back her hand. “Chalk.”

“Chalk?”

“Uh huh. I've been looking for this for half an hour,” Regina replies, exhaling. She comes around the other side of the desk and reaches for his hand, pulling him toward the elevator. “I have to mark the door with the right symbols or else the spell won't work and I need chalk to do that.”

“Ah,” Robin comments, untangling his fingers from hers. His hand goes to the small of her back, his chest bumping into her shoulder when she stops in front of the table where a spellbook lies open and marked.

Regina picks the book up and points to a section of ancient runes several lines long. “See?”

“And those markings will crack Hades’s spell?” Robin asks, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Regina nods and shivers when Robin's hand moves from her back to wrap around her waist, his thumb rubbing circles on her side. She'd normally protest his public displays of affection- she has work to do and they're not exactly alone with Emma and Hook just outside, but he's leaving her soon for an indeterminate amount of time and she's going to be facing Hades at some point in the near future, so if he wants to hold her and touch her while they still have the chance, she's damn well going to let him.

“Is it dark magic?” Robin asks softly, giving her a squeeze when she stiffens.

Regina swallows and sets the book back down on the table. “Yes,” she answers. “Trying to break through a spell cast by the lord of the Underworld doesn't exactly leave room for light magic.”

She holds her breath as she waits for his response. He doesn't like magic in any form, but likes dark magic the least. Light magic he can stomach. He’s told her as much- when she used it to defeat Zelena that first time, when she tried to save Marian, when she was tracking down the Author, when they were in Camelot. All those times, he’d been proud of her. Proud of her light magic and her resilient heart and her ability to use love instead of hate to channel her power. The Underworld, though, is different and more than once she’s felt the addictive pull of dark magic even though she’s only used it in tiny amounts so far. Magic is a slippery slope and she’s under constant threat of perpetually sliding down.

Robin exhales and presses a kiss to her shoulder. “I hate that you have to use dark magic,” he murmurs. “I know you have to, but I hate that you don’t have another option.”

“It’s just until we get out of here,” she promises.

“I know, love. But I also know how you struggle with the darkness. I don’t want your efforts down here to become harmful to your progress.”

Regina laces her fingers with his on her hip. “Do you love me?” she asks, turning her head slightly until her nose is nearly touching his cheek.

“Yes,” he answers. “You know I do. With all I have.”

“Then I’ll be okay,” Regina promises. “I have you and Henry and Snow and everyone else who came down here with us. I didn’t have you all before, but now I do. And now I’ll be okay, dark magic or not.”

Robin gives her another squeeze, holding it longer than before. He turns his head just enough to steal a kiss from her lips, dotting one on her cheek and forehead as well. He takes a step away from her then, so they can see each other without going cross-eyed, and reaches for the book on the table. “Can I help?” he asks, looking over the lines of symbols.

“You… want to help me do magic?”

“I’m always willing to help you. Just tell me what to do,” Robin insists.

Regina smiles and holds out the piece of chalk. “Okay. Take this and write the first line of symbols on the bottom of the elevator door.”

“The first line on the bottom of the door?” Robin echoes. “That’s a bit odd. You’d think the first line would go at the top.”

“Everything’s backwards here,” Regina explains, leading him over to the elevator. “It makes perfect sense for an Underworld spell.”

“Can’t argue with that logic, I suppose,” Robin agrees, studying the book with a furrowed brow. “What do the symbols mean?”

Regina shakes her head. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” She walks back over to the checkout desk and picks up a folded step ladder, hauling it toward the elevator.

“Nasty stuff?” Robin asks, crouching down in front of the door.

“Very nasty,” Regina grunts as she sets the ladder down and shakes it open. “Break me off a piece of that, would you?” she asks, climbing the first step.

Robin snaps the chalk in half and hands a section to her. “Do you need to see the book?” he asks, shifting to sit on his rear instead of crouching on his knees.

“No, I should be good. It’s easier to remember the symbols when you know what they say,” Regina answers, climbing to the top step. She rests her left hand on the wall for balance and then leans forward, chalk at the ready. Now did the first line start with ‘blood of the children’ or ‘bone of the father’?

They work in silence for awhile, the occasional squealing of the chalk being the only thing to break the quiet. Eventually though, the sound of Robin’s chalk ceases altogether. Regina glances down only to find him staring back up at her, smirk on his face.

“Can I help you?” she asks with faux irritation.

He shakes his head, grin never failing. “I was just thinking I rather like the view from down here,” he admits, gaze running up and down her body.

Regina rolls her eyes, the corners of her mouth quirking up regardless. “It wouldn’t be the first time you enjoyed having me above you.”

“No, certainly not,” Robin agrees. “It  _ is _ one of my favorite places to be.”

Regina chuckles and shakes her head. “Stop flirting with me and get back to work or else I’ll step on you.”

“I’d rather you sit on me.”

Regina’s mouth drops open out of indignation for a moment before she schools her features into something playful. “Well, from this position, I’d probably land on your face and not your lap.”

Robin fakes a scandalized gasp. “Milady. What you are suggesting is entirely inappropriate. We’re in a  _ library.” _

“You’ve never put up a protest about being inappropriate in a library before,” Regina teases, cheeks flushing at the memory of some of their more heated encounters in both the Enchanted Forest and Camelot.

Robin throws her a wink. “Well, you can be very persuasive.” He straightens into a kneeling position and holds the book up so she can see it. “I finished that line. What should I do next?”

“Start here and go up the side of the door,” Regina answers, pointing for clarification.

“Got it.” Robin sits down on his feet, shuffling over slightly so he can reach the one corner. “You know, love, aside from admiring the rather stunning view, I’ve been busy doing something else.”

Regina laughs. “Do I want to know what that something is?”

“I’ve been thinking about names.”

Regina stiffens. “Robin, I thought we said-”

“And how if I were to name my daughter,” he continues, as if Regina had never spoken, “I definitely would  _ not _ name her Olivia.” He sends a wink her way and Regina smiles, realizing the truth behind his words. “Because I definitely do not think that is a lovely name and it definitely was not a name I wanted for Roland had he been a girl.”

Regina licks her lips, mouth twisting into a smile. “Well, in that case, I definitely don’t like that name either. And since we’re definitely not naming her that, then we definitely won’t call her Liv or Livy for short or… anything like that.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Robin agrees.

“Do you have any ideas on what middle names you definitely don’t like?” Regina asks nonchalantly, keeping her attention on her work.

“Oh, no, I know what her middle names are going to be,” Robin replies confidently. “Louise Regina Elizabeth Margaret Eleanora.”

Regina nearly drops her chalk. “Wh-what?” she stutters, looking down at him. She didn’t hear that right. She couldn’t have heard that right. She could’ve sworn he said-

“Louise Regina Elizabeth Margaret Eleanora,” Robin repeats, turning to look up at her. His expression is innocent, but she knows his eyes. He knows what he said.

Regina swallows, hand shaking as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I… I don’t understand. Why-”

“It’s customary back home to name children after all the people their parents hope they will emulate in life,” Robin explains. “Makes for quite lengthy names. I have seven… eight middle names. Robin Andrew Jonathan Michael Sebastian Victor George William Alexander Locksley. Bit much, if you ask me.”

Regina shakes her head. She knew that. Of course she knew that. Everyone back in the Enchanted Forest named their children that way. That’s not what she doesn’t understand. “No, I meant why… why would you name your daughter after-”

“Louise is for my mother,” Robin interrupts. “Regina for you, Elizabeth for my sister, Margaret for… well, for Snow, and Eleanora for my father’s mother.”

“Robin, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Regina starts, eyes dropping to the ground.

“What’s not?”

“Naming her after… after me,” she admits, taking the two steps down the ladder until she’s standing on the floor again.

Robin sets the book down on the ground and pushes himself to his feet. “Why wouldn’t that be a good idea?” he asks, reaching for her hand, chalk forgotten.

“Kids made fun of Henry just for being the mayor’s son,” Regina explains. “Your daughter… life’s already thrown her so many more obstacles. It’s bad enough she’ll be living with the Evil Queen. Imagine what would happen if people find out she’s named after me too.”

Robin shakes his head. “Love, do you really think I care about what other people would say? I’m choosing to give my daughter your name because if she grows up to be anything like you, then I’ll have done my job as a parent.” He presses a kiss to her furrowed brow. “I said I gave her names of people I wish her to emulate. Louise, my mother, was the kindest and most giving woman I’ve ever met. Elizabeth, my sister, had such a joy for life even in the darkest of times. Mary Margaret knows how to keep faith better than anyone I’ve ever met. Eleanora, my father’s mother, was bold and strong and knew exactly what she wanted. And you-” He drops kisses to her forehead, cheek, and nose. “You, my foolish queen, are the most brilliant, most resilient, most inimitable person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing and the honor of loving. Of course I’d want my daughter to be like you.”

Regina blinks, tongue suddenly heavy. “Oh,” she says simply, her brain short circuiting. Of all the positions she thought she’d find herself in throughout this baby ordeal, becoming a namesake certainly wasn’t one of them.

She had named Henry for her father and for Daniel, two men who had shown her more love and care than anyone else in the entire world. So far, her son has done a damn good job of making his namesakes proud. She herself hadn’t been named for anyone. Mother didn’t think anyone in her family was worth such an honor. Still, Regina fulfilled the destiny bestowed upon her on her name day, whether she wanted to or not. And now, there’s a little girl being named after  _ her _ , not because her parents wish for her to be queen, but because this little girl’s father sees something in Regina that is more than a crown and title. However Robin sees her heart, that’s how he wishes his daughter’s to be. For the umpteenth time, Regina can’t understand what he sees in her or how she got lucky enough to find someone who takes the time to look.

Robin tugs her closer until she’s pressed against him, her hand resting on his chest. “I suppose I should have asked you first,” he admits, eyes flickering back and forth between her own. “Sorry I caught you off-guard.”

Regina shakes her head, finally being able to swallow. “No, it’s fine. I just… wasn’t expecting it. At all.”

Robin nods, thumb running over her knuckles. “Still… Regina, my love, may I name my daughter after you?”

Her smile comes easily as she ducks her head, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Yes,” she answers. “But not until we get out of this world.”

“Of course. We will not be naming Olivia Louise Regina Elizabeth Margaret Eleanora Locksley until we are safely back in Storybrooke. And even then, that’s not at all what we’re naming her.” Robin smirks and winks, stealing a kiss from her lips just as the front door to the library opens.

“Look who I found,” Snow sing-songs as she enters, tiny pink bundle in her arms. “Look, it’s Daddy.”

Robin smiles and steps away from Regina, reaching out to take his daughter. “Hello there, princess,” he coos, dropping a kiss to her forehead. “Were you good for Snow?”

“Oh, she was wonderful. Slept like a champ,” Snow gushes. “She just had another feeding and I figured you might want to move her while she’s still awake. The trip might tucker her out again.”

Robin sighs. “I suppose you’re right.” He turns back to Regina, reluctance on his face. “Guess I won’t be able to help you finish the elevator, love.”

“Don’t worry about it. This is more important,” Regina insists, taking a step to kiss his cheek. “Be careful. You remember where in the forest I set something up for you, right?”

“Yes. I’ll find it,” Robin promises. He shifts the baby into the crook of his elbow and wraps his free arm around Regina’s waist. “Promise me you’ll be careful too.” He sighs again. “I hate not being able to protect both my girls.”

Regina squeezes his arm. “I’ll be fine. I got the best backup in the world.” She leans around Robin to catch her step-daughter’s eye. “Don’t I, Snow?”

The princess nods. “I won’t let anything happen to her,” she promises. 

Robin half-smiles before startling slightly. “I left my bow at the loft,” he realizes. He looks down at his daughter and then up at Regina. “Would you mind holding her for bit, love, while I go get it?”

“Of course,” Regina answers, holding out her arms.

Robin passes the baby from his arms to hers, steals another kiss, and then heads out the door, loft bound.

Snow turns back from the door to look at Regina. “She is such an easy baby,” she sighs wistfully. “Neal had a colicky phase for the first few months.”

“She probably gets her temperament from her father,” Regina guesses, swirling circles on the baby’s stomach. “And Neal probably got his from David. They’re both whiners.”

Snow smiles sadly, arms crossed over her stomach. “I wonder if he’ll look like David too.”

Regina gives Snow a determined look. “You’ll get back to him,” she declares. “One way or another, you will. I’m sure of it.”

“That sounds an awful lot like a hope speech,” Snow teases.

“From me? Never. I’ll leave those to you, dear,” Regina replies, bending her finger so the baby can suck on her knuckle. Her eyes are so alert, so blue, so Robin’s. Regina subconsciously tightens her hold on the little girl, wondering how long it will be before she’ll have her own name. When she does, she’ll be named for so many incredible women and Regina, apparently, among them. She smiles knowing Robin’s daughter will share her name, but not her destiny. This little girl will carve out her own future, her own goals, her own life with resilience and strength. She’ll be queen of herself, fulfilling her namesake in more ways than one. Long live the littlest queen.


	3. How To Be A Big Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime after Season 5. Robin is alive.

Roland’s not allowed to hold his sister. Well, he’s allowed to if he’s sitting down and if Papa or Regina are with him, but besides that, he’s not allowed to hold her. Henry can hold her. Henry’s older, Papa told him and so Henry’s stronger. Roland strongly disagrees with that. There’s no way Henry is stronger than him because whenever they play fight in the backyard, Roland always wins. Always! So he must be stronger than Henry. He’s sure he could hold his sister if he tried, but Papa told him to never pick Morgan up because she could get hurt if he dropped her.

Duuuuh, Papa (Henry taught him what ‘duh’ means, but he said to never actually say it to any grownups because they’d get mad).

Still, Roland wants to help take care of Morgan because she’s  _ his _ sister, after all. She’s Henry’s too, he guesses, but Henry’s used to being the big brother. This is Roland’s first time ever not being the youngest. Regina said that’s a big responsibility, being a big brother. She said that big brothers are supposed to protect their little sisters and that little sisters look up to their big brothers. Roland likes the thought of that- having someone look up to him for once.

He’s going to be the best big brother  _ ever.  _ Or at least, he’s going to be as good as Henry. Henry is already the best big brother ever. Although, being the big brother means not getting to lick the spoon when Regina makes brownies and Roland’s not entirely sure that’s a good deal. But Morgan’s still too little to lick spoons, so Roland figures he has a while before he has to give that up.

Roland wishes he had a brownie right now as his stomach growls for probably the thirty-seventeenth time. Regina is taking  _ forever _ on the phone even though they’re supposed to be eating lunch right now. Papa is waiting for them at Granny’s with Henry. Roland wants a cheeseburger with french fries and a banana split, but only if Henry will eat the cherries for him. Cherries are yucky.

He swings his legs back and forth from his spot on the couch and twists around to see if Regina’s anywhere close to being off the phone yet. She’s not talking, so she must be listening. Maybe the person she’s talking to is telling her to hang up and take her kids to get a cheeseburger and banana split. Roland hopes so.

“No, I understand, but-” Regina starts saying, her eyebrows scrunching together when she stops. She’s been wearing her queen face the whole time. She must not like whoever she’s talking to. Maybe it’s Mr. Leroy. He always makes Regina wear her queen face.

Roland sighs and flops back against the back of the couch, legs dangling over the edge. If he doesn’t eat something soon, his stomach is going to eat itself. Can stomachs do that? He hopes not because he won’t have a tummy much longer if they do. Maybe that would be a good thing. Papa told him he gets grumpy when he doesn’t eat. Roland doesn’t think that’s true, but Morgan suddenly starts making funny gurgling noises in her carseat on the floor, and he finds he doesn’t want to smile at her like he normally does. He just wants a cheeseburger.

“No, you listen to me,” Regina snaps. She starts using her queen voice to match her queen face and Roland cringes. She only talks like that to him when he’s about to go on time-out. Maybe the person she’s talking to needs to go on time out. Whoever it is must’ve done something really bad to make Regina so mad.

Roland’s tummy growls again and he flops over sideways on the couch. He’s going to  _ die _ if he doesn’t eat something soon. He glances over at the bag next to Morgan’s carseat. Sometimes Regina packs puffy cereal for Morgan to eat when she gets hungry. Maybe she packed some today…

Morgan makes another noise then, but it’s not like the gurgling from earlier. It’s like the sound she makes when she needs her diaper changed or when she’s tired and needs to take a nap. Oh no. Roland sits up just as Morgan starts to cry, tiny fists shaking. This isn’t going to make Regina happier. Roland twists around to look at her then and she’s pinching the middle of her nose, phone still pressed to her ear. That’s not a good sign.

Roland slides off the couch and crouches in front of Morgan, looking around to see if there’s anything he can do to make her stop crying so Regina can pay attention to her phone call and get done with it sooner. Maybe Morgan’s hungry too. Roland pulls the big blue bag on his lap and rifles through the pockets. There’s diapers and wipes and new clothes and tissues and an empty bottle, but no puffy cereal. Oh! A pass- a pack- a pashifider. Yeah, one of those things. They always make Morgan stop crying!

Roland pulls it out of the pocket and holds it gently against his sister’s mouth, smiling proudly when she goes quiet. That is, until she spits it out and starts wailing again. Darn it. He turns around to look at Regina again and ooh, he knows that look. She only ever gives Papa that look when she’s really mad. That person on the phone must be doing something really bad. 

He starts searching through the bag again, pulling out stuff he doesn’t even know the names for and tossing them to the floor. No, not that… nope… not this either… nuh uh… wait! There it is! Puffy cereal!

Roland pulls the container out and flips the lid off quickly, some of the star shapes spilling onto his lap. He takes a piece and holds it against Morgan’s mouth, scrunching his nose up when she eats part of his finger with the cereal. Ewwww, he grimaces, wiping his finger on his shirt. Babies can be gross sometimes. Still, she’s not crying anymore. Roland beams when she reaches for the container in his hands. He takes another piece and places it in her mouth, yanking his hand away before she gets slobber on his finger again. He pops a few pieces in his own mouth. It’s not a cheeseburger, that’s for sure, but it’ll do for now. 

Regina hangs up just as Roland places another piece of cereal in Morgan’s mouth. Regina lets out a lot of breath all at once and then her heels are clicking on the floor as she comes to squat beside them. Roland grins up at her. “Look, Regina!” he exclaims, holding up the cereal container. “I made Morgan stop crying!”

“That you did,” Regina agrees, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. “Thank you, that was very kind.”

“You had your queen face on,” Roland explains solemnly. “I didn’t want you to get more mad.”

Regina shakes her head. “I wasn’t mad because Morgan was crying. I was mad because people don’t always listen to me when they’re supposed to.”

Roland gasps. “But you’re the  _ queen.  _ Everyone should listen to you.”

Regina smiles and starts putting all the stuff Roland had pulled out back into the bag. “I’ll remember you said that the next time you don’t want to take a bath.”

Oh, he hadn’t thought of that. Maybe there are  _ some  _ times people don’t have to listen to the queen. Like bathtime. And bedtime. And waking up time. Those times are the  _ worst. _

“Come on, I believe a cheeseburger is long overdue,” Regina continues, standing up with the bag over her shoulder.

“And a banana split?” Roland adds eagerly, scrambling to his feet.

“Well, of course. Only the best big brothers get banana splits,” Regina replies with a smile, picking up Morgan’s carseat.

Roland beams and takes the hand she holds out for him. Wait until Henry hears about  _ this.  _ He’ll definitely eat the cherries for Roland now. After all, the best big brothers have to look out for each other. And maybe Roland can’t hold Morgan by himself yet, but he sure can take care of her and that’s what big brothers are supposed to do, even if they don’t get to lick brownie spoons. Roland thinks he can live with that.


	4. Love Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in 4B under the premise that Robin and Regina kept in contact while he was in NYC.

Robin,

 

I hope this letter finds you well. It has been exactly 23 days since we last saw each other and normally, I try not to mark how much time has passed, but considering what that number means to the two of us, I thought today would be appropriate to reach out to you for what may well be the first and last time.

 

I've sent this letter to the address of Neal’s apartment. I hope you've somehow managed to find yourself there and that this letter reaches you. I also hope that you and Marian have been able to find work. If not, please write me back and I'll see what I can do about sending you more money until you can secure a job. I wanted to remind you to enroll Roland in school as soon as you're settled. He's old enough to be in kindergarten and all children are required to attend school. I'd say tell him his majesty says hello, but I think it'd be best if he didn't hear from me.

 

Life here in Storybrooke has surprisingly been calm. Henry started eighth grade last week and I can't believe how grown-up he is. Snow has smartly stepped aside as mayor and let me reclaim the office. Seeing as she is much better suited to handle preschoolers than politicians, I think we're both grateful for the change. Your men have started looking for respectable work around town, although I'd wager you would argue thieving is a fine profession to have. They always ask if I've heard from you and it pains me every time I say no. I know not being in contact is the easiest way to handle this, but a selfish part of me wishes it didn't have to be that way. I know this letter will most likely do more harm than good, but… I just can't help it.

 

It's funny- ever since the curse was broken, I have wished for nothing more than for peace and quiet to come to Storybrooke. Now that it's here, though, I realize it's not all I want. I feel it in the quiet moments- when I'm on lunch break with no one to eat with, when Henry stays at Emma’s and my house is empty for the night, when the demons in the dark become too much and I need someone to talk to. Yes, life is quiet and peaceful here in Storybrooke, but I would gladly welcome a thousand crises and villains if it meant the calm wasn't so empty. I said to Henry the other day that I have never been as happy as I was when it was just us and our sons. I want to get back to that, though I know hoping is futile.

 

Still, I hope. I hope you find some kind of happiness wherever you and your family end up. I hope Roland adjusts well and that he thrives under the love and guidance of his parents. I hope you and Marian find steady jobs and live comfortably in the strange world in which you've found yourselves. I hope you stop blaming yourself for all this because I know you still do. And, selfish as it may be, I hope you don't forget me. We may not be able to be together anymore, but our separation is not an invalidation of what we once had. I still love you. I probably always will, no matter how far away you are. And although this letter is a sorry substitution for seeing you with my own eyes and talking to you with my own lips, I hope it assures you that no matter what, I will always be here for you, regardless of distance and broken hearts.

 

I ask that you don't try to contact me unless absolutely necessary. As hurtful as this sudden separation has been for the both of us, trying to maintain any type of fruitless communication would probably not be beneficial. I wish you the best and I hope, someday, you'll find it.

 

Love always,

Regina

* * *

Regina,

 

I must tell you your letter surprised me to say the least. The moment I saw it, I was surprised, then confused, then practically ecstatic. I didn't open it right away in favor of staring at your handwriting on the envelope, tracing it over and over again until the ink started to wear away. When I did open it, I couldn't read your words at first because I was too enraptured by the smell of the paper. It smelled like you, my love, and it took every ounce of my willpower to not spend the entire day just breathing in your scent. That was the first time I was able to truly breathe since we parted.

 

I'm glad Storybrooke is peaceful for once. It eases many of my fears knowing you are not in mortal peril every other day. I can only hope it stays that way.

 

I wish I could ease your loneliness, milady. I know exactly what you mean when you say the calm is empty. I have my son and you have yours, but when the caring for our children is done at the end of the day, who is there to care for our hearts and ease our minds? I find myself thinking of you in the quiet moments, similar to those of which you wrote. It's in the darkness at night that I long for you the most, your soul like a soothing balm to my own. I feel like a man scorched and burned and only you possess the relief I seek.

 

I apologize if I'm being overly sentimental or dramatic, but my need for you is neither of those things. My need for you is real and constricting. My lungs refuse to breathe until we once more share the same air. This city is clogged with air thick like smoke and I long for the fresh air of home and of you.

 

Roland starts school next week and while Marian and I are hesitant about leaving him somewhere without us, we know it's what's best for him. He's a smart boy and he deserves to be given the best in ways of learning. He's asked about you many times. I never know what to tell him other than you're back in Storybrooke with Henry. I think he thinks this is like that pesky year we couldn't remember back in the Enchanted Forest except this time, instead of you being separated from Henry, we are separated from both of you. I can only hope this separation might one day end in the same way yours and Henry's did.

 

I've found work at a bar down the street. Believe it or not, this outlaw once knew how to make an honest living, although I must confess you were correct regarding my perception of thieving. Marian has found work as a seamstress at a nearby tailor shop. She's always been skilled with a needle. So thank you, milady, for offering to assist us further, but you needn't have. I think we'll be just fine.

 

I'm loathe to draw this letter to some kind of conclusion because I feel as if I'm speaking directly to you as I write. The sun, however, is rising and Roland soon with it, so I must regrettably stop somewhere. I know you asked me not to write you unless absolutely necessary, and I am loathe to disrespect your wishes but, my love, this  _ is _ absolutely necessary. It is necessary for me to know you are well and safe and that you haven't forgotten me, just as I haven't forgotten you. I doubt I ever could. My soul could never forget what it's other half felt like.

 

I don't expect a response from you, seeing as you wish not to be in communication, but know that no matter what, my love for you will not falter. As you said, distance and broken hearts aside, wherever I go in this strange world, my heart will always be yours.

 

All my love,

Robin

 


	5. Worth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Outlaw Bandit AU

The only thing beating faster than the horses’ hooves is Robin’s heart. It’s a moonless night, deathly dark and frighteningly thick, the edge of the forest barely distinguishable from the open space of the glen. Regina’s arms are tight around his back, her breath ragged and quick against his neck. His memory and educated guesses are the only things guiding them as they thunder toward cover, the queen’s men hot on their heels.

The knights won’t go into Sherwood Forest, not with all the rumors of ghosts and hauntings, and so Robin thunders on, hoping his memory is enough to get them safely beyond the trees. There’s a shout behind them, something indecipherable among the commotion of the chase and as Robin’s horse crosses the treeline, the sound of the queen’s horses quickly dissipates as he and Regina push into the forest. Low branches catch on Robin’s face as they blindly stumble through the wood, but the deeper they go, the safer he feels as the noise of the queen’s knights ceases completely.

He chances a look behind them and exhales when the only sight that greets him is the black blanket of the forest at night. He pulls up on the reins and his horse slows to a stop, circling around in the small clearing in which they’ve found themselves. He takes several deep breaths, calming his thundering heart and turns to Regina. “You alright?” he breathes.

She nods, breathing just as heavily as he. “Yeah,” she gasps, dropping her arms from around him and jumping down from the horse.

Robin bends forward and pats his horse’s neck before sliding down to the ground as well. “They didn’t hurt you?” he asks, keeping his eyes trained on her back so as to not lose her in the dark.

She shakes her head, hair loose around her face, braid almost completely undone. “No,” she exhales, bending over and putting her hands on her knees.

Robin nods even though she can’t see it and looks around, trying to recognize anything near them that might indicate which direction they should go. “I think we’re near the north stream,” he guesses. “If we head west, we should run into the waterfalls and then we can follow the river back to camp. Of course, it’s impossible to see in the dark like this, so it’d probably be best if we walk. Don’t want to risk having the horse sprain an ankle or-”

“Robin, I’m not going back to camp with you,” Regina interrupts softly, her back still to him.

He stares at her incredulously. “Don’t be ridiculous. After tonight, I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

“No, Robin, I can’t,” Regina insists, straightening and turning to face him. “I won’t. I won’t put you and your men in danger.”

Robin scoffs. “I’ve faced my fair share of danger. I think I can handle this.”

Regina shakes her head and takes a step toward him. “The queen knows about you. About you and your men. I won’t have you dying because of me,” she states, meeting his eyes and then looking away.

“I always thought dying would be an awfully big adventure,” Robin attempts to joke, smirk rising and falling with the unamused look she gives him.

“Robin, be serious,” she mutters.

“I am being serious,” he counters, reaching out to lightly grasp her bicep. “I’m serious that you’re coming back with me.” He ducks his head to catch her gaze. “I’m not leaving you to fend for yourself. Not with all those knights looking for you. Not if I can do something to help you.”

“You’ve already given me your help,” she argues, shaking off his hand. “I don’t need any more of it.”

“Well, considering I just rescued you from the queen’s castle, I’d argue that you do.”

“I told you- I’m not putting you and your men in anymore danger,” Regina repeats with a glare.

“And I told you we can handle it,” Robin counters.

Regina fists her hands in her hair and closes her eyes. “Don’t you get it?” she snaps, eyes blowing wide open. “If you help me, you'll end up hurt or dead! The queen will hunt you down and kill you and for what? For helping some stupid girl who can't even save herself from a bunch of idiot black knights? I can't ask that of you, I can't risk you getting hurt because I can’t lose you!”

Robin exhales, looking from her eyes to the forest floor and back again. He reaches out to touch her arm or her hand or just her in general, but she moves back, crossing her arms and turning away. 

“So many people have died because of me,” she says softly. “People I care about. I can’t lose you too.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

Robin runs a hand through his hair and over his face. He takes a tentative step toward her. “To be fair, milady,” he replies, “If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself either.”

Regina shudders out a breath. If there was a moon in the sky, its light would have glinted in the tear escaping from the corner of her eye. “I’m not worth your life, Robin,” she insists quietly.

Robin takes another step until he’s standing in front of her. He reaches out a tentative hand to touch her cheek, waiting to see if she moves away from him again. When she doesn’t, he brushes his fingers against her skin, stroking his thumb to catch the stray tear. “I think I get to decide what my life is worth,” he murmurs, bringing his other hand up to cup her other cheek. He gently lifts her head until her eyes meet his. “And if my life is worth a single star,” he continues, “Yours is worth the entire night sky.”

Her breath rushes out of her all at once, bottom lip quivering. She closes her eyes again and another tear leaks out, meeting the pad of Robin’s thumb instantly. He takes one more half-step until there’s barely any space left between their bodies, his face hovering dangerously close to hers. He runs his eyes all over her features, stopping on the lips that have pouted and smiled and mesmerized him all these weeks.

“I’m a death wish,” she breathes, leaning into him.

Robin runs the tip of his nose along the length of hers. “Then promise you’ll kill me softly,” he whispers, lips brushing against hers. He stills, waiting, and a moment passes, but then she’s leaning up and pressing their mouths firmly together. It’s soft and gentle, a slow movement of lips meeting and parting only to meet again with more gusto and force. It’s then, in that moment, as Regina winds her arms around his waist, that Robin knows it doesn’t matter if she comes back to camp with him. She can go wherever she wants. He will follow her to the end of the world.


	6. Hath No Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after 5x02 "The Price"

He is tired. Bone tired. Could sleep for a hundred years, wake up, and sleep for a hundred more. Regina said he'd probably feel groggy for awhile- getting dragged around by a Fury from hell all day takes quite a toll on the human body, he's learned. All he wants to do is go back to the mansion, tuck his boy in, and then collapse into bed with Regina wrapped around him. But his son has other ideas.

Roland wants to go to Granny's. Roland wants to go to Granny’s because Henry is going to Granny’s and there is nothing Henry does that Roland doesn’t want to do as well. Robin would have said no, would have told Roland they can get Granny's another time, but after the day they've had, he doesn't want to let his boy think anything is wrong and turning down Granny's definitely would have been a warning sign that something was up.

So he agreed. Removed himself from Regina's arms- even though she had been supporting a good portion of his weight- and scooped his son into his arms, Granny's-bound. Regina had frowned, said he shouldn't overexert himself, but she came along all the same, hand firmly grasping his own as they walked. He had scared her today, he knows from the way she stays close to him, eyes glancing around as if searching for anything that might separate them again. But she had saved him, brought him back from the brink with her strength and resilience and light and so maybe she walks closer to him than usual and maybe he squeezes her hand more often than normal, but they've had a long day. They've earned the right to be wary and protective. 

They're still a block away from Granny's when Robin's arms start to shake. It’s from carrying Roland for so long, and normally such a distance wouldn't phase him, but, well, Hell Fury and all that.

Regina notices and rests a hand on his bicep. “Put him down,” she orders softly. “He can hold my hand.”

Robin sighs in acquiescence and sets Roland down on the pavement. “Are you okay walking, son?” he asks, straightening out the little boy's jacket.

Roland nods. “Uh huh. Are  _ you _ okay walking, Papa?”

“Of course. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Your legs are all wiggly.”

Robin looks down at the same time Regina does and sure enough, his knees are trembling. He hadn't realized it, but now that something’s been said, his legs are indeed starting to feel an awful lot like jelly.

Regina exhales in admonishment. “I told you,” she mutters, reaching for Roland’s hand. “We should get you home. You need to rest.”

“I'm fine,” Robin dismisses, placing his hand on the small of her back and giving her a gentle push forward. “Don’t argue with me- I’m a dead man walking, remember?”

Regina glares at him over her shoulder. 

“Uh, right. No jokes,” Robin says sheepishly as Regina gives Roland’s hand a tug and starts walking across the street. Robin blows a long breath out of his mouth and follows, wishing he had Regina’s arm around him again to steady his wiggly knees. 

When they get to Granny’s, Henry is already there with Snow, David, and baby Neal, as are several of the dwarves (including poor Sneezy, still solid stone from Emma’s tricks). Roland practically pulls Regina into the diner, eager to get something to eat and spend time with the people who have quickly become his favorites. He scampers over to the booth just behind the Charmings and crawls up onto the seat, little legs swinging back and forth in excitement.

Regina takes the seat across from Roland and so Robin slides in next to his son, trying not to show how grateful he is to sit down. It doesn’t get past Regina though (nothing ever does), and she gives him a pointed look, one that shouts ‘I told you so,’ but she doesn’t say anything and reaches for a menu tucked behind the napkin holder. Robin takes a menu as well, but he doesn’t bother reading it. He’s not hungry and if he’s being quite honest, he’s felt rather nauseous since they’ve left the lake. Side effects, he guesses.

But Roland is probably starving since they haven’t had a chance to eat dinner with all the excitement of the day, so he should at least order something for his son. He turns to ask his boy just what he would like to eat, but he’s greeted by his son’s rear end instead of his face. Robin turns more fully, arm resting on the back of the booth as he studies his son in amusement. “Roland, what are you doing?” he asks.

Roland is, in fact, leaning over the back of the booth, sticking his head in between Snow and Charming who are regarding him with smiles on their faces. “I’m looking at the baby, Papa,” Roland answers matter-of-factly, ducking his head down closer to the bundle in Snow’s arms.

“That’s not how we sit at a table, is it?” Robin admonishes.

Roland grins mischievously, caught, and turns around in the booth, sitting back down properly.

“Thank you,” Robin says, resisting the urge to rub his temples. The harsh lights of the diner are doing no favors for his nausea or the dull throb growing behind his left eye. Regina was right- they should have just gone home.

“We should have a baby,” Roland states plainly, legs swinging beneath the table.

Robin winces, fingers pressing tight against the menu’s edge.  _ That wish will come true sooner than you think,  _ he gripes to himself, daring to look up at Regina after a moment. She is pointedly not looking back at him.

“A baby, huh?” Robin echoes, eyes dropping back down. “What makes you say that?”

Roland shrugs. “Because babies are cool. And you said when two people love each other very much, then they decide to have a baby. And you said you love Regina very much, so you should have a baby.”

Robin bites down on the inside of his cheek. Of all the topics of conversation, his son just had to choose this one. “I think that’s getting a little ahead of ourselves, son,” he replies, managing to keep his tone relatively calm despite his mounting irritation. Regina is still not looking at him, but he can feel the tension radiating off her. They haven’t had time to discuss any baby-related matters yet, and as far as he can tell, it’s still a rather sore subject for her (not that it’s his favorite topic either).

“But Papa, if you had a baby, then I could be a big brother! Like Henry!” Roland continues excitedly. “And you could be the papa and Regina could be the mama!”

Robin closes his eyes for a second, inhales, exhales, teeth gritting together. His son doesn’t mean to irritate him. He’s probably completely oblivious to the effects his words are having on both adults at the table, but Robin’s temper is short and his patience thin, he’s grouchy and tired and the last thing he wants to do is talk about babies and who is and isn’t having one.

Luckily, Regina’s saves him not for the first time that day. “But I’m already a mama, sweetheart,” she replies, finally looking up from her menu. “And your papa’s already a papa. We don’t need a baby to be those things.”

“Yeah, but you’re not a mama and a papa  _ together,”  _ Roland insists. “If you had a baby, then you would be!” He bounces excitedly in his seat. “And then we’d be like a real family!”

“Love makes a family, Roland. Not babies,” Regina sighs.

But the little boy is not to be deterred. “Yeah, but a baby would still be fun! Then we’d have a Baby Neal all our own! So can we have a baby, Papa?” Roland pleads, turning to his father.

“Son, now is not the time to-”

“Please, Papa? Please,  _ please-” _

“Roland, I said-”

“But Papa-”

“Enough, Roland!” Robin snaps, dropping his fist to the tabletop with more force than necessary, causing both Regina and Roland to jump in their seats.

His anger lasts for a second more and then dissipates completely, leaving nothing but guilt and exhaustion in its wake. Roland looks like a kicked puppy, mouth pouty and eyes wide with confusion about what exactly he did to warrant such a reaction from his father. Regina watches him steadily, probably waiting to see if she needs to jump in and fix the damage he’s just caused. He has half a mind to let her, but she’s saved his ass enough today. He can handle this on his own.

Robin runs a hand down his face and then turns to face Roland beside him. He exhales and puts a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Listen, my boy. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m sorry for that. But Papa has had a very long day and he’s very tired. So maybe we save all the talk about babies and mamas and papas for another time, okay?”

Roland nods dejectedly, bottom lip still jutting out.

“Hey, look at me,” Robin insists gently, ducking his head until he can catch his son’s eye. “How about we make a deal? We’ll stop talking about babies tonight, but you can ask me all the questions in the world later, when I’m not so grumpy. Sound good?”

Roland’s mouth twists to the side for a moment, debating his father’s terms, before he nods and sticks out his hand. “Deal,” he agrees, smiling again when they shake on it.

Robin grins and kisses Roland’s forehead. Well, at least he can make up for being a momentarily shit father. Not that that solves any of the other problems currently keeping his life in a chokehold, but it’s something.

The bell to the front door sounds and Robin glances back to see Little John and Will ambling into the diner. He turns back to Roland. “Hey, look who just walked in.”

His son rises up on his knees to peer over the back of the booth and gasps excitedly when he sees the two Merry Men. “Uncle John! Uncle Will!” he giggles.

“Why don’t you go say hello?” Robin suggests.

The words are barely out of his mouth before Roland is clamoring over his lap in his haste to greet his uncles. He slides down to floor and makes to scamper over to the two men, but he stops and spins back around. “Papa, don’t you dare yell at Regina,” he tells Robin sternly. “I don’t care if you’re grumpy. You should never ever yell at her, ever. She’s  _ my _ majesty and that means I get to protect her, so if you yell at her, then you have to deal with me.” He points to himself and then puts his hands on his hips. “Got it?”

Robin nearly manages to suppress his smile, but the corners of his mouth quirk up all the same. “Got it,” he promises, his words being enough to satisfy his son and send him off toward his uncles. Robin chuckles and shakes his head, turning back to face Regina who is surprisingly looking at him quite haughtily, a cool smile on her face.

“What?” Robin asks.

“He’s right. You better not yell at me,” she explains in her queen voice, but he knows she’s teasing.

Robin sighs and shakes his head. “I’d never yell at you,” he mutters, looking back down at his menu. “I just don’t want to talk about babies. Not tonight.”

Regina shrugs. “Fair enough.” A beat. “But we do have a lot to discuss about babies.”

Robin gives in and rubs his temples. “Yeah. Yeah, we do,” he concedes, leaning his head against his hand.

Regina looks at him for a moment and then drops her gaze, nodding. “But not tonight. Another time.”

Well, thank god for that, at least. It’s a conversation they need to have, obviously, but not when he’s just escaped death an hour prior. They need to talk when it’s just the two of them and they can lay it all out there. And also when there’s plenty of whiskey on hand. Lots and lots of whiskey.

“Hopefully when I won't cock it all up like I just did with Roland,” Robin sighs. He wants to go home. They should just go home.

“That… could have been handled better, yes,” Regina admits. She offers a sympathetic smile. “But you made up for it. And that's what matters. I'm sure Roland won't hold it against you.”

“I wouldn't blame him if he did.”

Regina tilts her head in admonishment. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“This self-loathing thing you've been sporting for the past few days. I don't hate you, Roland doesn't hate you, so stop hating yourself. It's not going to do you any good.”

“Is that queen's orders?” he teases weakly.

“No, that's sound advice from your girlfriend,” Regina corrects with a smile.

“Ah,” Robin concedes, trying to return her smile but failing miserably, resorting to just dropping his gaze back down to the menu.

“Hey,” Regina says softly, reaching for his hand. She laces their fingers together and squeezes, waiting until he looks up at her to speak. “I love you.”

Smiling is easier this time, tiredness and headache and babies aside. It’s not the first time she’s said it, those three words, but it’s still rather new for them, still exciting in a butterflies kind of way, and he’s yet to tire of hearing those words wrapped up in the ribbons of her voice. 

He brings her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles. “I love you too,” he replies sincerely, always earnestly when it comes to love and Regina. She’s not an easy one to convince of her own worth, her own deservingness of love and devotion, and so he makes sure to never tell her lightly how much of his heart she owns. “God knows why you put up with me,” he sighs, setting her hand back down on the table.

Regina shrugs and settles back against the booth. “You know how to pick a good bottle of whiskey,” she quips nonchalantly. “And the sex is fantastic.”

He laughs louder than he means to, especially when Snow abruptly turns around, eyes wide.

“Regina,” she admonishes, scandalized.

“What?” Regina defends. “Roland’s distracted over by the counter and Henry’s not… wait a minute, where is Henry?” She looks around, searching the diner for her son.

Robin glances around, wondering how he could have missed the teenager pass their table, until his eyes settle on the jukebox in the far corner. His smile spreads slowly across his face. “Check the jukebox, love,” he says, cocking his head in Henry’s direction.

Regina twists around and Robin fights against a laugh as her shoulders visibly tense. If only he could see her face. “Isn’t that one of the lasses who came over with our new Camelot residents?” Robin asks, studying Henry’s new ‘friend.’

“Yes. It is,” Regina says coolly, voice dangerously low. “What exactly does she think she’s doing with  _ my  _ son?”

“Henry’s probably helping her… adjust to Storybrooke,” Robin answers. He can’t help adding with a grin: “Like you did with me.”

Regina whips around, eyes wide. “There will be none of  _ that  _ happening. Absolutely not.”

Robin chuckles. “I’m sure it’s all innocent, my love. A first crush is hardly anything to be worried about.”

“You say that now. But just wait until all the girls start coming for Roland. Then you might change your mind,” Regina states as she makes to stand.

Robin shakes his head. “Where are you going?”

Regina straightens her jacket and pulls herself up to her full height (which, to be honest, isn’t very much, but he’ll pretend to be intimidated by the diluted wrath of the former Evil Queen if that’s what she wants). “I’m going to extend the mayor’s welcome to Henry’s new… friend,” Regina explains with a hint of mischief. “I won’t be long.”

“Go easy on them, love,” Robin calls after her with a chuckle, laughing again when Regina releases Sneezy from his stone confines with a simple snap of her fingers as she makes her way over to Henry and the Camelot girl. 

Robin lets out a deep breath and relaxes back against the booth, tilting his head from side to side, trying to relieve the tension and tiredness in his muscles.

“How are you feeling?” Snow asks from behind him.

Robin twists around to see her properly and nods wearily. “Exhausted. I want to sleep for three days,” he admits.

“Oh, I’d imagine,” Snow empathizes, rubbing her son’s back as she slowly rocks him to sleep on her shoulder. She smiles. “But you’re laughing again, and I haven’t seen you do that since before you left for New York.”

Robin offers a half-hearted grin. “It’s been… a long kind of hell the past few days.”

Snow reaches out and touches his shoulder. “I know. But you haven’t let it keep you down and that’s what matters. Furies from hell notwithstanding.”

He chuckles and looks up to meet her eyes. “Thank you, by the way. For what you did at the lake. I… I never expected… I didn’t think… I was just surprised, I guess, that you and David would… do something like that… for me.”

Snow tilts her head in mild surprise. “Robin, of course we’d help you. You’re part of our family now. And Regina was willing to… well, I don’t really know what would have happened to her, but we weren’t about to let her get hurt either. The two of you, I mean, you’ve had it really hard lately. We weren’t about to let your story end that way.”

Robin looks down and tries to find something to say to that. He’d heard stories about the giving and accepting nature of Princess Snow and her Prince Charming, but he never thought he’d experience it firsthand. They’ve taken him in without question, without prejudice, with the only stipulation being that he treat Regina right, and despite a few bobbles here and there, he’s managed to not only earn their acceptance, but a spot in their family as well. And to think he once hated royals with every fiber of his being.

“And you know,” Snow continues in wake of Robin’s silence, “If Roland ever gets baby fever again, he’s always welcome to come over and play with Neal.”

Robin closes his eyes for a second. “You, uh, heard that, huh?”

“Kinda hard not to,” Snow admits sheepishly. “But I get it. Kids always seem to push just the right buttons without even knowing what they’re doing.”

Robin looks over at his son, laughing with his two uncles by the counter. “I just feel terrible. He’s oblivious to everything that’s gone on and he doesn’t even remember what happened in New York. He’s completely innocent and yet he keeps getting hurt by me or Zelena or… me  _ and  _ Zelena.” Robin shakes his head. “I want to do right by my son. But it’s been so hard lately.”

Snow touches his shoulder again. “Everything will be fine. Regina’s helping, right?”

Robin smiles. “Yeah. She… she always helps.”

“Then it’ll be alright.” Snow shifts Neal on her shoulder. “You’ve gotten through a lot already. You just have to keep going.”

Regina interrupts him before he can say anything more as she slides into his side of the booth with a heavy sigh. “My son is a teenager,” she groans, turning herself until she’s facing both Robin and Snow.

“Did it go horribly wrong?” Robin asks overdramatically, reaching out to grasp her bicep.

“No,” Regina answers miserably. “It went fine. I guess. But he kept  _ blushing  _ and then got all embarrassed when I said I was his mother and it was just  _ awful.” _

“What’s going on?” Snow asks.

“Henry has a girlfriend.”

“Henry does  _ not  _ have a girlfriend,” Regina insists. “He has a… girl… person… who he doesn’t even know that well.”

“Well, you and I didn’t know each other all that well, but all it took was one kiss and-”

Regina punches him in the arm, hard. “Don’t even  _ think  _ about implying that,” she warns as Robin feigns hurt and nurses his injury.

“Sure, attack the man who almost died today,” he whines.

Regina rolls her eyes, but reaches out and rubs his arm anyway. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I don’t handle change well.”

Robin’s about to tell her it’s okay, he understands, but a yawn cuts him off.

Regina gives him that look, the one that tell him he better not argue with her as she states, “I think it’s about time we head home and get you into bed.”

A joke about her phrasing is on the tip of his tongue, but another yawn interrupts him, so he justs nods and acquiesces. That’s all he’s wanted since they’ve walked through the door anyway.

Regina calls Roland over and then Henry, a noticeable purse coming to her lips when he takes a little too long saying goodbye to the Camelot girl. Robin squeezes her hand and she gives him a miserable pout in response. There really can’t be too much harm in the first girl Henry’s ever shown interest in, but her son is growing up and Robin knows that feeling, so he doesn’t dismiss her misery and just squeezes her hand again.

“But Regina, I didn’t get to eat anything yet,” Roland points out as he climbs up into her lap.

“I’ll fix you something at home, alright?” she bargains. “Papa isn’t feeling well and he needs to rest.”

“Cause of the furry?” Roland asks, looking over at his father.

“Because of the Fury, yes, my boy,” Robin answers, combing his fingers through Roland’s curls.

“I’ll make you a grilled cheese when we get home. And some strawberries, too. Would you like that?” Regina asks as Henry comes trotting up to the table.

Roland nods and rests his head against Regina’s chest, the long day finally wearing on his infinite energy. Regina kisses the top of his head and then looks up at Henry. “Ready to go?” she asks in a tone that only mildly suggests Henry better damn well be ready to go.

Luckily, he nods without a fight and reaches for Roland. “Here, I’ll take him. You help Robin over there before he falls asleep sitting up.”

Robin blinks, realizing that he had indeed started to doze already. He hides a yawn as Regina passes a suddenly sleepy Roland to Henry and then turns to face him. “I take it walking might be a little difficult?” she asks, hand finding his knee.

Robin yawns again and shakes his head. “I mean, I could manage, but if we could get home by another means, I certainly wouldn’t object to it,” he admits.

Regina turns to Henry. “Hold on to him, please,” she instructs, gesturing toward Roland. Henry’s arms tighten just as Regina raises her hands and purple smoke swirls up around the four of them, allowing Robin just a fraction of a second to wave goodbye to Snow before the diner dissolves around them.

When the smoke clears, they’re in the foyer of Regina’s house. Robin wobbles on his feet, but Regina shoots out an arm and steadies him. She brings a hand up to his cheek and steps closer. “You head up to bed,” she says softly. “I’ll take care of the boys.”

Robin rubs his eyes and nods wordlessly. He looks over at Roland who is struggling to keep his own eyes open against Henry’s shoulder and feels both guilty and thankful at the same time. Guilty that he can’t even manage to put his own son to bed at the moment, and thankful that the horrors of the day won’t keep his boy up during the night. He has a wonderful son, and whatever he did to deserve him, he’ll never know. He goes over and kisses Roland’s forehead, wishes him good dreams, and then squeezes Henry’s shoulder, wishing him the same and thanking him for his help today.

“Do you need help up the stairs?” Regina asks as Robin starts to climb, gripping the railing tighter than normal.

He smiles tiredly at her, loving her concern for him, but he’s not an invalid, he can manage a flight of stairs. “No, love, I’ll be fine,” he promises, dragging his feet up another step. He should be fine, he thinks, but by the time he makes it to the bedroom, he’s wishing Regina had helped him after all.

The bed looks so inviting, like heaven waiting to welcome him with plush, Egyptian cotton arms, but he doesn’t just feel tired, he feels dirty. Grimy. Sweaty. Like he had just come back from completing a particularly difficult heist in the middle of summer. And he doesn’t want to get Regina’s pristine bedding filthy, no matter how drawn to it he is. So he’ll shower first. Shower, and then bed, and then sleep. Blissful, mind numbing sleep.

He turns on the water first, lets it run, lets the bathroom fill with healing steam, and shucks his clothes in the hamper (he’ll have to do laundry later, for Regina, take one less thing off her to-do list). The water on his skin isn’t as heavenly as the bed looked, but it’s damn close. He stands under the stream, eyes closed, lungs filling with warm air, tension seeping out of muscles and swirling down the drain. He could sleep right here, just stay under the water until it runs cold or until he stops feeling tired, whichever comes first.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been in the shower when the bathroom door opens, but it’s been long enough that he has to adjust the shower handle to make the water warmer as it had started to go slightly cold. A moment later, Regina steps into the shower with him, naked and wonderful and wordless. Robin steps to the side to allow her a place under the water and he’s expecting a question, her asking why he hasn’t gone to bed yet, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she wraps her arms around his middle and pulls him tightly to her, resting her head against his chest. Robin puts his arms around her back and she breathes deeply, fingers swirling soothingly along the dip in his spine.

She doesn’t speak for a long while, but when she does, her words almost get lost in the steam. “You died,” she whispers. Her voice shakes.

Robin exhales, long and slow, because she’s right. He did die, or almost did, in the six weeks they suddenly can’t remember. That’s the whole reason why the Fury came after him. His soul was… unpaid for, or something like that. Why his soul was up for sale in the first place, he can’t say. But Regina paid the price, paid for him, and now… now what? Now he has to wonder, did someone else die too? Did he kill someone? Did he die to protect Regina or Roland or Henry? Did Emma… did Emma have something to do with it?

He doesn’t know. And his brain’s too tired to dwell on it now and Regina is trembling slightly in his arms, so he pushes the what ifs out of his mind and breathes her in. “I know,” he finally answers, his words tangling with her hair as he kisses the top of her head. He pulls back and ducks his gaze until she looks up at him. Her eyes are wide and searching and worried, probably wondering if what she did is enough, if he still might be taken from her. 

He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, pausing when he feels something rough marring her skin. She looks down when he touches it, so he gently turns her head until he can see what marks her.

“What’s this?” he asks, running a finger lightly over the jagged cut.

She shrugs. “Fury,” is all she says.

Robin frowns, presses a featherlight kiss to her wound, and then pulls her back against him. She won’t tell him, what she did to get him back, not right now. Just like he won’t tell her, all the things he saw and felt and heard as the Fury dragged him around, not right now. Later, maybe, but not now. Now they need to sleep and heal and listen to each other’s heartbeats. Sleep. Sleep was his goal when he first came up here and that is still his goal now, so he reaches for the handle and turns the water off with a squeak. He’ll take a proper shower tomorrow (or maybe he won’t, maybe he’ll keep Regina in bed with him all day and not worry about anything beyond their bedroom door. That is, if he can somehow convince Regina to relax even the tiniest bit), and they’ll deal with everything else tomorrow (Emma, Camelot, stolen memories, Henry’s new female friend).

Robin steps out of the shower and pulls Regina with him, reaching for a plush white towel from the linen cabinet and wrapping it around her. She manages a smile as he vigorously rubs the water from her skin, pausing once to kiss her nose when she scrunches it. And that’s all he’s wanted since this day fell apart- to make her smile again, even if it’s a shadow of the one he dreams about. 

Regina takes the towel then, and turns it around on him, drying him more gently, taking her time over his ribs, his chest, pressing her lips just above his heart. And that’s all she’s wanted since this day fell apart- to touch him, hold him, make sure for herself that he is alive and well and hers. And he is hers, completely, totally, now to the end of time, so he kisses her once, lets it linger until some of the tension melts from her body and she grows pliant against him.

The towel gets tossed in the hamper and the light flicked off and then finally, Robin collapses into bed, drawing Regina down with him. She curls tightly against his side and holds him as close as possible, arms around his middle, legs tangled with his, head pillowed on his chest. She’s more relaxed now, but still wary, still in protective mode, so he strokes his fingers up and down her bare back and kisses her forehead.

“I’m here, my love,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She exhales, breath warm against his skin, and squeezes him just a little tighter. “I know,” she whispers. She kisses over his heart again and somehow presses even closer to him. “I love you, you know.”

Robin smiles, eyes already closed, consciousness already slipping away, limbs already heavy. “I know,” he answers. “I love you too.” She squeezes him close one more time and then Robin sighs and sleeps like the dead.


	7. DIfferences

_ Hugs _

He likes to hug her, she’s come to notice. He likes to pull her into his arms and hold her snugly against him, whether it’s to calm her frazzled nerves, or soothe her burning temper, or reassure her of his love. He’ll wrap an arm around her waist and another around her shoulders, stroking up and down her spine until tension melts from her body. His hugs are comforting, relaxing, and she rather likes how he envelopes all of her in his embrace, how his strong arms feel as they encircle her protectively. And his hugs are rather protective, she knows. He hugs to protect her heart, her mind, and- all too frequently- her life. That’s what he always does when she escapes another near-death experience- hold her to him in a vice grip that leaves no room for her to breathe anything but the forest scent of him as he runs his hands over every inch of her he can reach, reminding them both that she is still there. She can’t really say she minds.

She likes to hug him, he’s come to notice. It’s rather endearing, the almost shy way she embraces him, to ground herself after a taxing day, or to ease the stress that cords his muscles. She’ll come up behind him when he’s preoccupied with something- dinner, or bills, or work- and slip her arms around his waist, squeezing once in a rush of affection, before resting her forehead between his shoulder blades, nose pressing against his shirt. She tends to breathe deeply when she hugs him, slow, steady breaths that wash down his back as she exhales. He’ll rest a hand on top of hers clasped just below his navel, gripping her fingers firmly to doubly reassure her that he’s still here and that he’s not going anywhere. She’ll whisper what’s troubling her mind when she has him in her arms, confessing to his back that she’s scared, or stuck, or worried. It’s then that he’ll move, grasping her hand to spin her around into him so he can wrap her up in a proper hug, dotting kisses to her hair until her mind settles, allowing himself to breathe in the lavender scent of her while she rests safe in his embrace. He can’t really say he minds.

* * *

 

_ Kisses _

He kisses her whenever he has the chance, she’s realized. No matter where they are, or what they’re doing, or who’s around, if he has the opportunity to buss his lips against hers, he will. She’d been a bit embarrassed by it at first, since open affection had never really been her style, but she’s come to appreciate the little drops of tenderness peppered throughout her day, especially when it feels like the whole world is against her. He keeps it chaste in public, or when the children are around, never goes beyond a gentle press of the lips, but as soon as they’re in private, or the children are asleep, those appropriate pecks melt into sinful slides of tongue and teeth, his kisses changing from comfort to intoxication as her breath grows heavy and her toes curl in her shoes. Her heart never fails to flutter when he swoops in to steal her lips as she’s making dinner, or frowning over meeting agendas, or struggling to keep her eyes open as she rocks the baby to sleep. And if she starts to seek out his kisses, turning her face expectantly toward his whenever he walks by, well, no one would dare point it out to her.

She kisses him when words escape her, he’s realized. She had kissed him passionately, deeply when three little words had failed to form on her tongue, leaving her to express her love for him with her lips. She’ll kiss him when she’s angry, when she loves him but hates him, when she’s furious that he would dare risk his life to save hers. She’ll kiss him when she’s sorry, when they’ve argued and tossed words carelessly about, when they both know that talking won’t fix anything just yet, but when they can’t stand to be apart any longer. She’ll kiss him when she’s desperate, when she can’t find words because her mind is consumed by pleasure, begging him to push her over the edge by fusing their mouths together until she screams her release against his lips. She’ll kiss him in the mornings, when he has to wake before her to take the early shift at work, when he rouses her briefly with a gentle kiss on her forehead. She’ll tilt her head toward him, eyes still closed, mind still drowsy, searching for his mouth, a wordless goodbye and ‘I love you’ before the sun rises. And if he gets to end his day the same way it starts, with her lips on his- sweet or fiery depending on her mood- then he will certainly not be one to complain.

* * *

 

_ Cuddling _

He clings to her when they sleep, she’s discovered. He always holds her, must hold her, keeps her wrapped up tightly in his arms through his slumber. She suspects it’s a comfort for him, being able to touch her at night, after so many weeks spent without her by his side. She never minds, loves falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat and the feel of his breath on her skin. If she rolls away from him in the middle of the night, he’ll reach for her across the bed and pull her back into his embrace, much like a child would a teddy bear, until he can tuck his nose into her hair, arms tight around her body to keep her just where he needs her. He does that when his sleep is troubled, he’s told her. When dreams turn into nightmares and he can’t escape whatever darkness is swirling in his mind, he’ll press his nose into her hair, and breathe deeply until his heart stops racing and the horror of his dreams is replaced with the warmth of her smile. She imagines his arms probably fall asleep on a nightly basis with her weight constantly pressing on them, but he never says anything, and she’ll never complain about getting to sleep with him invading her every sense.

She claims she doesn’t cuddle, but that’s a blatant lie, he’s discovered. She insists that he is the one to initiate any cuddling between them, but he knows that is just not true. There are times he’s woken in the middle of the night to find her sprawled completely on top of him, her always-cold nose pressed snugly against his neck. She uses him like a personal mattress, or on particularly cold nights, a personal blanket, reaching to pull him on top of her along with the sheet and duvet. When he deigned to take a nap on the couch one afternoon, he awoke to find her curled up against his chest, having wedged herself between his side and the back of the couch to join him for a bit of shuteye before dinner. Whenever she’s had too much to drink, her usual detached attitude morphs into something touchy and adoring, and it seems she cannot go five seconds without tucking herself under his arm, soaking in all the cuddles she gets on a daily basis but refuses to acknowledge. He’ll let her insist she does not cuddle, because he knows the rather adorable truth, and the is for him alone to enjoy.


	8. Tuesday Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in some future time when Robin is alive

Robin walks into the Rabbit Hole, tired, irritated, and hungry. He’s asked Emma to stop giving him such late hours, he has a family to take care of and young children who like to rise earlier than the sun on most days, and he really can’t afford to stay at the station until midnight. But Emma had had a rough week, a lingering chest cold that wouldn’t clear up and so when she asked Robin to switch shifts with her so she could get some sound hours of sleep, he relented and agreed to help her out, at least for this week.

But his charity doesn’t do much to abate his irritation and exhaustion, voluntarily imposed or not. Between answering public disturbance calls and mediating petty disputes, his patience has worn very thin. He’s almost done, just has to check on the bar to make sure there are no rowdy drunks causing problems and then he can head home to the warmth of a sleepy Regina, knowing the station has been left in David’s capable hands for the remainder of the night and early morning.

Robin nods to the bartender as he enters, eyes perusing over the dimly lit room. It’s not full, it is a Tuesday night after all, but there are still people shooting pool, eating at the tables, drinking at the bar. No one seems to be dangerously intoxicated and no fights seem to be brewing, so Robin’s about to just walk through once and then make for home, but then he sees a familiar face sitting at the far end of the bar.

Killian has a nearly empty tumbler of what can only be rum in his hand, and from the disheveled state of his hair and the droopiness of his eyelids, it seems he’s been imbibing for awhile. Strange, considering he has the morning shift at the station tomorrow.

Robin strides over to that end of the bar. “Hey, mate,” he greets, leaning against the bartop.

Killian tilts his glass in response.

“What are you doing here?” Robin asks, looking from the tumbler to the dwindling bottle of rum set just behind the bar.

Killian takes a sip, swallows. “In the doghouse,” he answers miserably.

“Again?” That would make it the third time in two weeks that Emma has kicked Killian to the couch or, evidently, out of the house for the night. Robin sympathizes; the honeymoon phase always leaves a burn when it wears off.

“Yep,” Killian confirms. “It was bad.”

“What happened?” Robin asks, pulling out a stool and taking a seat.

Killian sighs and runs a hand down his face. “Emma found out about the Henry thing.”

Robin furrows his brow. “The Henry thing?”

Killian looks at him pointedly. “ _ The Henry thing,”  _ he repeats with emphasis and Robin’s stomach drops. The Henry thing. The Henry thing that he and Killian both vowed they would never speak of to anyone, especially not Emma and Regina. Fuck.

“Shit,” Robin mutters, rubbing his forehead. “How’d she find out about that?”

Killian shrugs. “Dunno,” he mumbles, taking another sip.

Well, if Emma found out about that, then it makes sense why Killian would be drowning his sorrows in alcohol. If Regina had found out about it, Robin would probably be in the same- fuck.

“You don’t think…” Robin starts, making Killian laugh.

“Oh ho, I’m sure Regina knows all about it by now,” he chuckles sadistically, bringing his glass to his lips once more.

Robin’s stomach rolls and he pulls his phone out of his pocket. His phone which had been on silent for the past two hours because he was on a call and had the walkie with him. His phone which is now peppered with countless notifications, most of which are from a very angry and a very persistent Regina.

_ ROBIN LOCKSLEY YOU CALL ME RIGHT THIS MINUTE _

_ I AM GOING TO SKIN YOU ALIVE _

_ DON’T IGNORE ME _

_ YOU ARE A DEAD MAN _

_ SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR HANDS _

_ YOUR TONGUE _

_ AND YOUR EYEBROWS _

_ DON’T THINK JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE WORKING YOU CAN GET OUT OF THIS _

_ YOU CALL ME RIGHT NOW _

And 5 missed calls to boot.

“Fuck,” Robin groans, putting his phone back into his pocket. He pinches the bridge of his nose and then motions for the bartender (it’s after midnight, he’s officially off-duty). A minute later, he has a glass of whiskey in his hand, half of it already gone. “We’re so fucked,” he gripes.

“Tell me about it,” Killian grumbles as the bartender refills his glass. “I walked into the house and nearly lost my good hand. Emma was furious.”

“At least she didn’t burn your eyebrows off.”

Killian laughs. “Ha, better enjoy ‘em while you still have ‘em, mate,” he jokes, clapping him on the back.

Robin groans again and takes a lengthy sip of whiskey. “Regina and I were doing so well,” he laments. “We haven’t fought in over two weeks.”

“Well, that’s good,” Killian acknowledges. “She finally come round about Zelena, then?”

“No,” Robin sighs with a shake of his head. “Zelena picked Morgan up after dinner. But I haven’t pushed the matter and neither has Regina. We’ve been ignoring it, I guess.”

“Probably not the best thing to do.”

“No, it’s not,” Robin admits. “But Regina won’t listen to reason. And I’m not hurting our relationship over Zelena anymore. We’ve done enough of that already.”

“Then tell her that,” Killian advises.

“What, just tell her that I don’t want to share Tuesdays anymore, end of discussion? For some reason I don’t think that would go over too well.”

“No, I meant tell her you’re tired of sacrificing your relationship for Zelena. After everything she’s done to you, I don’t think it’s unreasonable for you to make that request.”

“Regina doesn’t see it that way,” Robin sighs, wondering just how this night became about his relationship problems. “And I don’t want to ask her to give up what she has with Zelena because I know how much it means to her, to finally have a relationship with her sister. I don’t want to ruin that for her.”

“Mate, saying what you are and are not comfortable with isn’t asking her to give up anything,” Killian counters. “And it certainly won’t ruin her relationship with Zelena. You’re a part of this arrangement too. You have a say in what happens.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve a feeling bringing that up tonight wouldn’t really go over too well, would it?”

“No, I reckon not,” Killian agrees, taking a drink.

Robin downs the rest of his, and then motions for another.

* * *

 

Their shot glasses hit the bar top with a thunk and Robin’s head swims pleasantly at the sound. It’s probably close to one in the morning by now, but he stopped paying attention after glass #3 of whiskey. What else is he supposed to do with his night? Regina certainly doesn’t want to see him. She’d probably throttle him if he dare step foot in the house and he’s very much interested in not being strangled to death at the present moment. And besides, Killian’s a friend and good company and if they’re both in the doghouse, why not be there together?

“I wonder who snitched,” Robin hiccups, head still straight enough to remember someone told Emma and Regina about the Henry thing.

“Doesn’t matter. They were bound to find out eventually,” Killian slurs, reaching for his tumbler of rum, fingers clumsy as he grasps it.

“Yeah, they have a weird way of knowing stuff,” Robin concurs, holding out his empty glass for the bartender to refill.

“They’re the most powerful sorceresses in all the realms. We were fools to think we could ever keep something from them.”

“Yeah, sorceresses,” Robin repeats absently. He takes a slow sip of his refreshed whiskey, throat burning pleasantly. Thank the gods he doesn’t have to work tomorrow. “Ya know, I used to hate magic,” he states. “But now… now it’s kinda sexy when Regina uses it, just casually like it’s no big deal.”

“I know what you mean,” Killian agrees. “It’s the hands, I think.”

“Mm, yeah, the hands,” Robin echoes. Regina’s hands are definitely not what he should think about when he’s drunk and miserable and in public. Her mesmerizing hands that can do absolutely sinful, mindblowing things, that look marvelous wrapped around his-

He knocks back another swig of whiskey. Considering Regina’s hands are probably not going to be doing anything remotely enticing to him for a long while after the Henry debacle, he probably shouldn’t indulge himself. Instead, he clunks his glass down and indulges himself in a conversation he would never dream of having if he was sober. “Has Emma ever used magic in the bedroom?”

Killian’s eyes go wide as he laughs, hiccups, and then laughs again. “You and the queen like to experiment there, mate?”

“Well, it’s just the one time-”

An annoying chirp interrupts him and Killian sets his glass down, fumbling to pull his phone from his pocket. He blinks dumbly at the screen for a moment and then grins. “Speaking of your lovely queen…” he announces, turning the phone around so Robin can see the name on the screen.

Fuck. Regina.

Robin scrambles to fish his phone out of his own pocket, the device forgotten in his drunkenness and misery. Sure enough, there are several more notifications from Regina, quite different from the first set.

_ I mean it, Robin. Call me _

_ It is after 12:30 why are you not home yet _

_ Did you forget to charge your phone again? _

_ I swear to god if you don’t answer your phone this time… _

_ ROBIN _

_ If you’re currently dying, I’m going to kill you _

_ I promise not to kill you if you come home _

_ Robin please. Call me. _

And 4 more missed calls.

Well, he’s just cocked this entire night up, hasn’t he?

“Regina, hello,” Killian is saying as Robin goes through his notifications. “Yes, he’s with me… hey, in our defense… The boy wanted to be taught! It’s not our fault he wanted to learn!… fine.” He holds the phone out toward Robin. “She wants to talk to you.”

If he was in his right mind, Robin would probably think better of talking to a worried and angry Regina while he is quite drunk, but the whiskey is talking and it’s getting pretty loud. “Hello, love,” he says into the phone.

“Robin Locksley, where the hell are you?” Regina snaps and oh, she really is pissed. But whether it’s still over the Henry thing or if it’s because he’s yet to return from work, he’s not sure.

“At the Rabbit Hole with Killian,” he answers, because what else is he supposed to do? He won’t lie to her, even if it means he has to say goodbye to his eyebrows.

“I have  _ called  _ and  _ texted  _ and you didn’t think it necessary to let me know where you are?” Regina seethes, voice terrifyingly low.

Robin gulps and squeezes his eyes shut. He shouldn’t have had so much to drink. “I was going to, but I thought you’d be angry with me for the Henry thing.”

“Oh, I am  _ plenty  _ angry about that, thank you so much for reminding me,” Regina answers with venomous sarcasm. “But damnit, Robin, it is nearly one thirty in the morning and you didn’t so much as text me to let me know you’re alright.”

Robin pinches the bridge of his nose. God, he’s a screw up. He can’t go one night without fucking something up. “I’m sorry, my love,” he apologizes. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She exhales, long and slow. “Yeah, well, you did.”

Robin pushes his glass away from him, holding his hand out to stop the bartender from refilling it. “Would you like me to come home?”

“No, I don’t want you driving. You sound drunk.”

Timely, Robin hiccups. “I won’t argue with you there,” he admits. “I’ll walk.”

“No, I don’t want you doing that either. Say goodbye to Killian.”

“Why?” Robin asks, cocking his head, just as he’s enveloped in a cloud of purple smoke.

When it clears, he’s standing in their bedroom, hand still near his ear, but without Killian’s phone. His head spins, stomach rolling dangerously as he blinks and focuses. Regina is standing on the other side of the bed and though his vision is slightly blurred, he knows her queen face well enough to recognize that she’s wearing it now. 

She locks her phone and then tosses it onto the bed, arms crossing, eyebrows arched.

Robin swallows. “Love-”

“Don’t,” Regina interrupts, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it.” She points toward the bedroom door. “Couch.”

Should’ve seen that one coming. “Regina-”

“Couch,” she repeats. “We will talk about this tomorrow.”

Robin scrubs his face with his hands, reaching up to muss his hair, and sighs. “Right. I’m an idiot. Good night, then.” Regina lets him go without another word and Robin’s stomach turns with both dread and alcohol. He’s doomed, that much is clear. Whether or not  _ they  _ are doomed, well, he supposes the morning will determine that.

He closes the bedroom door behind him and trudges to the hall bathroom, stopping to splash water on his face. He pokes his head into Henry’s room and then Roland’s, grateful that they are at least having a peaceful night. He stops by Morgan’s room for no real reason since she isn’t there, Zelena has her, but he’s besotten with his daughter and just being around things that remind him of her is enough to make him feel a tiny bit better. He opens her door and freezes.

He freezes because Morgan, his precious little girl, is sleeping soundly in her crib, tongue peeking out between her lips.

But it’s Tuesday. Zelena gets Tuesday nights. Robin  _ wants  _ Tuesday nights, and that’s part of the whole problem between him and Regina to begin with. Regina would see it as infringing on Zelena’s struggle to redeem herself, and Zelena would see it as trying to keep her from her child. So why, then, is his daughter sleeping soundly here instead of at Zelena’s farmhouse? 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t have the mental faculties to process answers at the moment anyway, so he doesn’t worry himself with the details. His daughter is here and she’s just what he needs, so Robin soundlessly walks over to the crib and gently lifts Morgan into his arms, careful not to jostle her too much lest he wake her. He kisses her head softly, breathing deeply as she stirs slightly and nuzzles her cheek against his shoulder.

She’s so perfect- everything about her, and here he is, drunk and miserable on a Tuesday night because he’s an idiot and he doesn’t deserve a perfect child like her. At least she’s still too young to be angry with him. Robin yawns and sits down in the rocking chair by the window, moving back and forth languidly as Morgan’s breathing deepens and then evens out. 

He should sleep- he’ll be dead tomorrow- but as whiskey-lulled as his brain is, it won’t shut up and he can’t sleep knowing Regina is angry with him. And even worse, that he deserves all her anger and then some. At least, hopefully, she’ll get some sleep tonight. Gods know she needs it.

Robin kisses Morgan’s head again and then settles back against the rocking chair. He stares out the window at the moonless night and doesn’t sleep.

* * *

 

Morgan starts to stir sometime later and Robin shifts his hold on her, tucking her against the crook of his arm. A quick glance at the clock tells him it’s nearly 3 a.m. He rubs a hand down his face, blinking against the start of a headache. He should drink some water. He should have drunk some water the second he got home, but he didn’t and just add that to the list of mistakes he’s made in the last twenty-four hours.

Morgan whimpers and stretches, brow furrowing as she struggles in the battle between wake and sleep. She’s hungry, most likely. Her middle of the night feedings have slowly started to dwindle and some nights, she sleeps nearly the whole night through. Bless those nights. Apparently, though, tonight isn’t one of them and it’s not long before she’s letting out a pitiful wail, craving warm formula and a soothing touch.

Robin sushes her as he stands, bouncing her in his arms. “It’s alright, princess,” he coos. “Give Papa a minute and I’ll get you a bottle.” He’ll get her a bottle and then get himself some water and hopefully ward off any hangovers and headaches in the process. But seeing his luck lately, he’ll probably end up miserable and in pain for most of tomorrow. Wonderful.

Robin kisses the top of Morgan’s head and turns for the door, stopping when he looks up.

Regina’s leaning against the doorframe, mid-yawn, arms crossed and eyes half-lidded. They look red, her eyes, but whether that’s from crying or lack of sleep is a mystery (he hopes it’s not from crying- he hates when she cries, especially when he’s the cause of it). Her hair is messy and if the circumstances were different, Robin would find it most endearing. But considering the circumstances they’re currently in, he decides it’d be best to keep his endearing comments to himself.

Robin regards Regina cautiously as he continues to bounce Morgan gently. She doesn’t seem angry anymore, but if she had just woken up, she might still be too out of it to remember she was mad at him in the first place. “I got her,” Robin says softly. “Go back to sleep.”

Regina shakes her head. “I wasn’t sleeping,” she yawns, coming into the room. She holds out her arms wordlessly and Robin hands Morgan over, aware of the ache in his muscles for the first time. He shakes out his arms as Regina starts to rock Morgan back and forth, shushing her gently.

“I’ll get her a bottle,” she says, turning halfway to the door. She looks back at Robin for a moment. “Stay,” she orders, and thank the gods, that’s a good sign.

Robin nods and lets his girls go, sinking back down into the rocker with a sigh. He should try to sleep at some point tonight, but the boys will be up for school in a few hours and they make all the noise of a horse race in the morning. Robin rubs his eyes and breathes out slowly. He wonders if Regina is planning on going into work tomorrow. She clearly wasn’t getting much sleep either, but knowing her, she’ll stride into her office just like everyday and ignore the pull of exhaustion until it becomes unhealthy.

The sound of footsteps in the hall makes him sit up and a second later, Regina reappears in the room with Morgan sucking down formula like her bottle is the last one in existence. Regina looks at him and then down at Morgan, adjusting the bottle where it had started to slip from her mouth.

“Why does her onesie smell like a distillery?” Regina asks, looking back up. Amazingly, her voice is free of malice.

Robin rubs the back of his head. “I’ve been holding her for a while,” he explains.

“Did she wake earlier?”

Robin shakes his head. “No. I just wanted to hold her.”

Regina nods and looks back down at Morgan, swaying slowly from side to side. Silence settles over them for a long moment and it’s not awkward exactly, but it’s not comfortable either, unspoken words clanging around in the space between them.

Robin takes a moment and commits to memory the sight of Regina holding his daughter, his two girls, two of the people who hold so much of his heart. God, he loves them. He loves them so damn much. If only he could stop screwing up so he could show them just how much.

“Why is she here?” Robin asks quietly after awhile. “It’s Tuesday.”

Regina glances up briefly and nods. “I asked Zelena if we could take Tuesday nights.”

Robin blinks. “You… you did?”

Regina nods again. “Yeah. I know how much you’ve been wanting them and I figured there was no harm in asking. Zelena said it was fine.”

“She… she did?”

Regina half-smiles. “She’s not always unreasonable, you know.”

Robin shakes his head absently, slightly dumbstruck. “But I thought… I mean, you said you didn’t want to impose-”

“Zelena’s imposed on our lives from the moment we met,” Regina interrupts. “I figured she could sacrifice a little for us every now and then.”

Robin breathes out slowly and rests his head in his hands. “Gods, I’m a cad,” he mumbles.

“Robin-”

“I am,” he insists, pulling his head back up. “And I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you or Morgan or the boys. I don’t deserve your forgiveness or… or Tuesday nights or… or even sleeping on the couch. Just kick me out to the backyard. It’s where I belong.”

Regina shakes her head. “Is that really what you want?” she asks.

“No,” Robin answers miserably. “What I want is you. I want you all day, everyday, for the rest of my life. I want you and our children to be safe and happy and cared for. That’s all I want.”

Amazingly, Regina smiles. It’s small and a bit sad, but it’s a smile all the same. “That’s all I want too,” she murmurs.

Robin breathes out a humorless chuckle. “If we want the same thing, then why do we keep on bloody fighting all the time?”

Regina looks down at Morgan and slowly pulls the now-empty bottle from her mouth. She sets the bottle down on the changing table and then gently lowers Morgan back into her crib, running a soothing hand up and down her back as she fights to keep her eyes open. A few moments later, their daughter is drifting back off to Dreamland.

Regina presses a kiss to her fingers and then lightly touches Morgan’s head. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” she whispers. She turns to face Robin, studying him for a minute before silently closing the distance between them.

Robin leans back, surprised, as Regina moves to sit on his lap, straddling his thighs, face pensive. His hands hover, uncertain, unsure as to how much he’s allowed to touch, but then she leans in to him, and he figures all boundaries of personal space have been breached, so he skirts his hands around her waist, wrapping tightly, and holding on.

She brings a hand up and brushes her thumb back and forth against his cheek, eyes flickering between his own. “I don’t know why we keep fighting,” Regina murmurs. “But I do know that I love you. I love you, and I hate this- fighting, all the time.” She kisses his forehead. “All I want, is exactly what you said. I want you, everyday, for the rest of my life. And I want you and our children to be safe and loved and happy.”

Robin exhales and closes his eyes, focusing on the feel of her thumb rubbing against his skin. “At least we’re on the same page about something.”

Regina kisses his forehead again. “I realized something tonight,” she says.

“What’s that?”

“When you were at work, I couldn’t wait for you to get home so I could surprise you with Morgan,” she whispers, fingers trailing up to thread through his hair. “And then Emma told me what you did with Henry and I was so mad that I completely forgot how I excited I was before.” 

She sighs. “And then I didn’t hear from you and you didn’t come home and I didn’t know where you were or what happened to you. And then I was scared.” She lowers her eyes. “I was so scared that you were hurt or missing that I completely forgot how mad I was before.” 

Robin swallows, throat thick with guilt. He hadn’t meant to frighten her and knowing that he had makes his stomach roll.

Regina looks back up. “And then I found out you were okay and I was mad again because you had made me so worried for no reason.”  She shakes her head and leans forward, resting her cheek against his temple. “But then I came in here and saw you with Morgan, and I remembered how excited I had been to surprise you with her. And suddenly I wasn’t mad anymore.”

“You weren’t? Or… I mean, you’re not- anymore?” Robin amends, voice piquing with hope.

Regina shakes her head, her hair tickling his cheek. “I wasn’t mad because seeing you with Morgan reminded me that I love you.” She sighs exasperatedly and pulls back to look at him. “You’re an idiot, but I love you. And loving you is a thousand times better than being mad at you.”

“You  _ should  _ be mad at me,” Robin says, fingers flexing at her waist.

“I know,” Regina acknowledges with a little laugh. “But I’m making the choice not to be. And you should be mad at me, too, you know. I’ve been unfair to you with Morgan and Zelena.” She shakes her head. “I’m supposed to be supporting you, and… I haven’t been doing that.” She looks down. “I’m sorry.”

Robin shakes his head slowly. “Don’t be,” he says. “Gods, don’t ever be sorry.” He leans up and kisses her, gentle and reassuring, his hand finding its home on her cheek, fingers tucking into her hair. “You are a marvel, Regina Mills,” he murmurs, looking her in the eye. “This… shit of a situation that we’re in? I couldn’t make it without you. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you with me, and I thank the gods everyday that you are who you are. And who you are is incredible.”

Regina breathes out a laugh, blinking away the start of tears. “You make it sound like I did something amazing,” she says. “All I did was love you.”

“That  _ is  _ amazing,” Robin whispers. “And that’s all I’ll ever need.”

Regina’s lip quivers for a moment, and then she’s leaning in and kissing him and Robin melts. He keeps his arm firm around her waist, holding her to him as their lips part and come back together, breaths mingling and hitching. She threads her fingers through the hair on the back of his head, nails scraping his scalp. Her lips are softer than usual, less forceful, and Robin’s head swims again, but this time from her intoxicating touch and not the half bottle of whiskey stewing in his stomach.

He’d spend all night- or, the rest of the night, technically- just like this, her kisses the perfect hangover cure, but she has work in the morning, and they have three children to wrangle out the door, so he lets the kiss find its end and presses his lips one final time to hers.

She’s a little breathless when they stop and evidently a little sleepy, her eyelids drooping as she pulls back to look at him. “You should get some sleep,” she whispers, pushing back his hair.

“Mm, so should you,” he returns, showing no signs of moving.

Regina nods and then settles in against him, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. Her breath is slow against his neck and her eyelashes tickle his skin as her eyes close. “You’re going to be hungover in the morning,” she yawns, already half-asleep.

Robin chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I can handle it,” he says, resting his cheek against her hair and closing his eyes. Nothing has felt more right than this moment and Robin sends a prayer up to the gods that their future is filled with more like it. Less anger, more love. Less fights, more kisses. More nights with Regina curled up safely against him and their children slumbering soundly, oblivious to the troubles of the world. It’s all he’s ever wanted, and it’s all he’ll ever need.

Robin exhales and settles back into the chair, arms filled with the woman who owns his whole heart.

Several minutes pass and he starts to drift off when he hears Regina say quietly, “Robin?”

“Mm?” he hums.

“You and Hook taught my son how to break out of jail.”

Robin’s eyes pop open. He gulps, and sends another prayer up to the gods, begging for them to have mercy on his soul. Lord knows he’ll need it.


	9. Riled

He doesn’t know what set her off.

He really doesn’t, but gods above, he’s not going to question it.

He’s not going to question when she’s pressing him hard against the desk, the mayor’s desk,  _ Regina’s  _ desk, as she kisses him fiercely, hungrily, angrily. She’s wound up about something, and he’d ask, he’d try to ease her mind, but she is pushing his jacket off his shoulders and pulling at the buttons on his shirt and he can’t really do much when her tongue is doing  _ that _ inside his mouth.

“Swan,” he gasps when she breaks for a split second for air. “We can’t- this is Regina’s-”

“I don’t care,” she interrupts, shutting him up with her mouth again. “We are doing this here. Now.” She yanks the bottom of his shirt free from his pants and pulls until the fabric flies open, buttons scattering all over the floor. Her mouth is on his skin immediately, sucking and biting as her hands fall to his belt.

He’d protest. He  _ would.  _ But she is insistent and, well, he’s helpless when it comes to her.

* * *

He doesn’t know what set her off.

He honestly doesn’t, but who is he to question her? Especially when she is doing sinful, wonderful things with her lips and tongue, pressing him hard against the desk, the sheriff’s desk,  _ Emma’s  _ desk. Her mouth is hot against his own, her hands insistent as they trail down his chest, hooking and tugging at his belt. She is worked up about something, and he wants to know what, he really does, but she is raking her fingers through his hair and pressing her hips against his and he can’t resist her. He  _ can’t.  _

“Regina,” he manages, hands finding purchase on her waist. “We can’t- this is Emma’s-”

“Ask me if I give a shit,” she growls, grinding herself down on his hardening center.

He won’t. He won’t ask, not if she keeps working him like that, not if she keeps yanking on his belt just so, mouth sucking bruises down his neck, fingers tugging maddeningly in his hair. He wants to know why she’s riled, he really does, but, well, it’s her. And he simply can’t say no.

* * *

Regina is going to kill him.

Burn him to a crisp if she ever finds out.

She won’t kill Emma, for Henry’s sake, but him? Oh, he’s a dead man.

But if this is the way he is to go, then so be it. If he’s to meet his end balls deep inside his love, Emma warm and wet and tight around him, bent over Regina’s desk, then so be it. He’ll die a happy man.

How they ended up here- and why- he’s still not sure, but finding out can wait. Finding out can wait until after Emma’s finished making those sounds and clenching around him and arching under his touch.

He catches something she mutters, amidst all those marvelous moans and gasps, something that sounds like, “Insufferable… she’ll see- fuck- she’ll see I’m right.”

He doesn’t know what she means, can’t find the thought capacity to decipher it, but he’ll file it away for later, for another time, when she’s not gasping and moaning for him to keep going, right there, fuck, don’t stop.

He picks up the pace and doubles his efforts until she is arching and crying out and coming beneath him. 

Oh yes, he will die a very happy man.

* * *

Emma is going to kill him.

Well, fire him and then kill him.

She’ll spare Regina, for Henry’s sake, but him? He’s a goner.

But of all the ways to die, he can’t think of a better one than  _ this- _ buried to the hilt inside his soulmate, Regina’s legs wrapped around his hips, her perfect ass perched just so on Emma’s desk, groans and gasps falling freely from her lips.

Why, exactly, they’ve ended up fucking in the sheriff’s station, on Emma’s desk no less, he still isn’t entirely sure, but he won’t ask just yet. He knows better than to interrupt his love when she is clutching at his back, gripping him tight, clenching around him as he drives her higher and higher.

He hears something, somewhere in her gasps of pleasure, that sounds like, “Try to argue with me… I’m right, she knows I’m-  _ fuck _ \- I’m right…”

He’d tell her that of course she’s right, except he doesn’t know what she’s right about and it doesn’t seem too important at the moment, not when she is begging for him to fuck her harder, make her come, she needs to come.

He drops his hand between her legs and rubs until she is biting at the skin of his shoulder, trembling beneath him, shouting her pleasure to the empty sheriff’s station.

Oh yes, he’s a goner. But what a way to go.

* * *

They bring it up with each other later, beers in hand, inhibitions gone for the night. At first, they’re sheepish, confessing to doing wildly inappropriate things in wildly inappropriate places, but then they start to wonder. What could have riled their women up so much that they were both driven to releasing their frustrations in roughness and pleasure? And on each other’s desks no less?

Their loves are enigmas, that much is sure.

They clink their beers together, thanking gods above that they are the ones who get to solve the puzzles.

* * *

They find out later, what it was all about.

When Henry brings up Violet and his two mothers clash, one arguing the boy is old enough to court a lady and the other arguing he is still a child. It’s a well-worn argument, one that has obviously been had before, one that gets quite heated, one that gets their respective lady loves quite… riled.

They share a look, an unspoken question asked between them, and suddenly, they realize what it was all about. Thank god neither woman realizes their sudden comprehension. They’d both be dead men.

Oh, but what a way to go.


	10. Halves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Robin's two daughters.

Madison hates her. Almost. Madison hates a lot of things, but Lauren is not one of them. A distinct loathing is probably a better word for it. Love- now that’s a whole different question. Madison doesn’t love many things and Lauren knows she does not fall into that exclusive club. Not many people do.

Daddy never wants to hear it. Sisters not loving each other? What a ridiculous notion. Madison always bites her tongue to stop herself from pointing out that she and Lauren are not sisters.

Half-sisters.

Nothing more.

Madison doesn’t hate Lauren, but she doesn’t love her either. There’s a hollow part of her that wishes she did, but every time they see each other, red hair clashes with black and no love is lost between them. Madison loves her family, but Lauren is only half-family, a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit with the rest of them.

Mom understands, for the most part. And how could she not, with her own sisterly struggles? Mom says they’ll appreciate each other when they’re older. Madison always bites her tongue to stop herself from pointing out that they  _ are _ older and they’re feelings haven’t changed.

Half-sisters.

Nothing more.

Roland and Henry get caught in the middle, whether they realize it or not. They don’t like to pick sides, they don’t like to involve themselves, but they have to share Lauren. Madison is all theirs. 

And maybe that’s it, maybe that’s why Lauren is the oddly shaped puzzle piece. She’s not completely theirs. One day she’s there, and the next she’s not. In and out, in and out, being passed back and forth like a game of catch that never ends. Always going, never staying, family bonds getting caught in the closing of the door.

Half-sisters.

Nothing more.

Never more than one parent in common, one half of each other’s lives they must share. Not all broken things can be patched up with threaded hope and second chances. And this thing has been broken from the start.

* * *

Madison doesn’t expect to see Lauren when she gets home from school, but she’s there, sitting at the kitchen table, talking to Mom. She frowns when she hears her half-sister’s voice. It’s Wednesday. Wednesday is a Lauren-free days. It’s Madison’s favorite day of the week.

Mom laughs as Madison enters, tongue pinched tightly between her teeth. She greets her mother with a kiss on the cheek and merely looks at her half-sister in greeting. Lauren hardly glances back.

“What are you doing here?” Madison asks bluntly, shrugging off her backpack. “It’s Wednesday.”

“I got off work early. Thought I’d come by to see if Dad was here.”

“You could’ve just called.”

Lauren rolls her eyes and stands, walking over to the refrigerator. “Didn’t think I had to call ahead to come by my own home.”

Madison bites her tongue again.  _ It’s not your home. _

“Did you have a good day at school, sweetheart?” Mom asks, ignoring the loveless exchange between half-sisters.

“Yeah, it was fine,” Madison answers, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter. “Where’s Dad?”

“He had an appointment after work. He should be home before dinner,” Mom replies. “Are you eating with us tonight, Lauren?”

The older girl shakes her head. “No, I told Mom I’d make dinner. I’ll be here tomorrow, though.”

_ Two days in a row. Great.  _ Madison picks up her backpack and heads for the door. “I’ll be in my room,” she says to no one in particular.

Mom tells her to holler if she needs anything. Lauren says nothing.

Half-sisters.

Nothing more.

Neal once asked her what it was like to have a sister close in age. She told him she’d let him know once she got one.   
  


* * *

She hates Zelena. As much as her mother’s sister tries to get along with her, Madison’s never been able to get past the whole raping her father business. Mom might, but not Madison. Zelena hurt her family. There’s nothing to discuss beyond that.

Lauren looks like Zelena. All red hair and pale skin and long legs. How on earth can Daddy look at his older daughter without thinking of the woman who birthed her and what she did to him? Daddy and Zelena don’t like each other. They tolerate one another for Mom’s sake and for Lauren’s, but there is nothing other than a great dislike between them. Madison understands. Lauren does not.

And how dare she? How dare she want Daddy to care about the woman who violated him, who used him for the sole purpose of hurting Mom and bringing Lauren into the world?

Half-sisters.

Nothing more.

She’s been told to call her ‘Aunt Zelena.’ That’s not happening. It’s Zelena and nothing else. She is not family. She is Mom’s sister, Lauren’s mother, and nothing else. Aunt Emma is family. Aunt Snow and Uncle David are family. Uncle Killian, Uncle John, Aunt Mal, they are family. Zelena is not. No matter what Mom says.

Lauren calls her Regina. And if Madison is being pressured to use ‘Aunt Zelena,’ why then is Lauren not told to use ‘Aunt Regina?’ It’s the stepmom thing, probably. Who else in the entire universe has a stepmom who is also their biological aunt? Fucked up. This whole thing is fucked up.

Madison’s life would be perfect- loving parents, two protective older brothers, a whole host of family members to love and support her. She’s never wanted for anything. Her life would be perfect if it weren’t for two red puzzle pieces that don’t exactly fit. Two red pieces that everyone keeps trying to jam into the right spots in the puzzle of Madison’s life, but no matter how hard they push or which way they turn, those pieces won’t fit. They weren’t made to fit. Maybe everyone should stop trying to make them.

* * *

It’s an accident. A stupid, avoidable accident. Madison has never been a wonder in the kitchen, always forgetting ingredients and mishandling appliances. She takes after her father that way.

Her temper is short and often blinding, anger seeping its way into places that should be left alone, leaving a path of destruction in its wake. She takes after her mother that way.

Nothing sparks her temper quicker than Zelena, Lauren being the one exception. Madison isn’t even supposed to be at Zelena’s. She is supposed to be with her father, but other things came up and her mother is working and would she really mind if she went to Zelena’s house after school just until her father can pick her up?

Yes. She does mind. Very much.

She minds enough that her temper is blazing from the moment she arrives, fury blocking out her reason and rationale, blind to anything that doesn’t feed her anger. How dare she be forced to spend the afternoon with the woman who is responsible for ruining her life years before she was even born? How dare her parents ask such a thing of her?

In hindsight, her anger is to blame. If she hadn’t been so angry, maybe she would have remembered to turn off the burner when the kettle whistled. Maybe she would have noticed the kitchen towel left so close to the stove. Maybe she would have smelled the smoke sooner and felt the heat of the flames quicker. Maybe she would have yelled louder and shouted for Zelena faster. Maybe she would have been able to stop the flames from catching onto the wooden walls of the cabin. Maybe she would have been able to get out of the house before the smoke became suffocating and the heat became unbearable. Maybe she could have stopped it. And maybe Zelena wouldn’t be dead.

* * *

Lauren bursts into the house, eyes wild and red, cheeks stained with tears. She’s unhinged and devastated and furious. She wants blood. Payment for her mother’s life so carelessly ripped away.

Madison shrinks, her own eyes red and puffy.

“You,” Lauren seethes, storming past Mom standing in the doorway.

“Lauren,” Mom tries.

“You killed her!” Lauren shouts, towering over her half-sister. “She’s dead and you killed her!”

“It was an accident,” Madison defends feebly. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You little bitch! I’m going to kill you!” Lauren shrieks wildly, lunging for the younger girl, murder in her eyes.

Their father is the only reason Madison is still alive. He appears in the room at the perfect time, grabbing hold of Lauren before she can begin her assault, locking her tightly in his grip.

“Sweetheart, please,” he pleads, unrelenting in his hold even as Lauren fights against him.

“She killed her! She killed her!” Lauren shouts, wild eyes never leaving Madison. “I hate you! I hate you! You little bitch! You killed her!”

Madison jumps up. “It was an accident!” she shouts.

“I don’t give a shit! If it weren’t for you, she’d be alive! Why couldn’t you just stop being a bitch for once in your life?!” Lauren demands.

“Stop shouting at me! You’re making me feel bad!”

“I don’t give a fuck how you feel! How the fuck do you think I feel? You killed my mom! My mom is dead because of you and all you care about is yourself!”

Madison snarls. “You want me to say I’m sorry? Because I’m not! I hated Zelena! I’m glad she’s dead! I hated her and I hate you!”

Lauren’s face contorts in unabashed, unleashed hatred. “I hope you die!” she screams as Daddy starts pulling her from the room. “I hope you die! I hope you burn in hell! I’m going to kill you! I hope you die!”

Somewhere in the room, Mom starts to cry, breaking down from the weight of her sister’s death and their daughters’ struggles that mirror their own so perfectly.

Madison hates seeing her mother cry, but her anger has gone blinding again and all she sees are the stairs as she runs up to her room, the door slamming shut behind her.

Mom is left to cry alone.

* * *

Mom always knocks. She never barges in, never opens the door herself. She knocks, and doesn’t enter until Madison sniffles a miserable, “Come in.”

Mom opens, closes the door, and leans back against it, arms crossed. Her eyes are red, but her face is calm, motherly instincts taking control of her own grief for the time being. Madison waits expectantly from her bed. They’re so alike, Mom and her. In looks and temperament and magic. In what they need in times of pain and struggle. And so Mom knows. Mom knows coddling and pity will get her nowhere. And so she waits.

“I’m not apologizing,” Madison states, looking away.

“To Lauren? No, I wouldn’t expect you’d want to,” Mom answers, pushing herself off the door. “But to your father? Well, I believe you owe him an apology.”

“Daddy? What did I do to him?”

“You broke his heart,” Mom answers, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts him to see the two of you fight like that?”

Madison shrugs. “He shouldn't pretend everything is okay when it's not. It hasn't been. Not for a really long time.”

“He just wants the two of you to appreciate each other as sisters.” She reaches out and squeezes her daughter's hand. “I didn't appreciate Zelena for a long, long time. She blamed me for ruining her life and I blamed her for ruining mine. We didn't realize that our relationship- what we were to each other- was special. There is no one else on the planet who can understand you like your sister.”

Madison purses her lips. “Lauren is not my sister.”

“Half-sister, stepsister, whole sister, it doesn't matter. What matters is that you realize you're sabotaging yourselves.”

“Pretty sure Zelena did all the sabotaging when she raped Daddy,” Madison snaps.

Mom sighs. “You say Zelena and yet you hate Lauren for it. Why, sweetheart? Why take out your anger at your aunt on your sister?”

“Because Lauren ruins everything!” Madison cries. “Our lives would be perfect if she didn't exist! She's a constant reminder of what Zelena did to Daddy and to you! She doesn’t… she doesn’t  _ fit  _ with the rest of us! She's awful and mean and she wants Daddy and Zelena to like each other! How could she ever ask him something like that?”

“I think she just wants her parents to get along, sweetheart. Any child would want that.”

“She doesn't get to want that,” Madison snaps. “Just because she doesn’t have a real family, doesn’t mean she gets to force one together at the expense of mine.”

Mom purses her lips. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore, do you?”

Madison looks away. “I didn’t want Zelena to die.”

“But you can’t say that you’re sorry about it, either.”

Her bottom lip trembles slightly, a reflection of her brother and father. “No,” she admits quietly. “But I’m sorry for you. I’m sorry you lost your sister.”

“Not that Lauren lost her mother?”

Madison doesn’t answer.

“How would you feel if it were the other way around? If I died because of an accident Lauren caused? Would you want her to feel sorry about it?”

“She would feel sorry about it,” Madison challenges, engaging her mother in a stare down for a long moment before relenting, shoulders sagging. “I guess that makes her a better person than me.”

“Empathy isn’t an indication of goodness, sweetheart. And you know, I can’t really fault you for not feeling sorry. Years ago, if Zelena died, I wouldn’t have felt bad about it because I hated her and she hated me. We couldn’t look past the hate. But then, somehow, something changed. We started to understand each other.” She reaches out and squeezes Madison’s arm. “And once we understood each other, we realized all the hate we had built up against each other, all the ill will, was doing nothing but getting in the way of ourselves and what we could be together.”

Madison bites her lip, angry tears brimming. “Lauren and I will never be anything together,” she says quietly. “We’re too damaged.”

Mom leans forward and kisses Madison’s brow. “Good can come from broken, sweetheart,” she whispers. “And we all get a second chance, even if we don’t think we deserve one.” She stands. “You just have be brave enough to find it.” Mom turns for the door, but stops at the threshold. “It’s not too late for you and Lauren, honey. Even if it doesn’t seem like it right now. Don’t give up on your sister- she understands you better than you think.” She gives one long lingering look, and then turns, leaving Madison alone in the rubble of her grief.   
  


* * *

She’s always loved how in love her parents are. Even now, almost two decades into their relationship, they still love each other like it’s their wedding day. Daddy makes Mom smile, brighter and wider than anyone else. Mom makes Daddy laugh, louder and longer than anyone else. Their relationship is good. Their relationship is healthy. Their relationship is not like the one Daddy had with Zelena.

Blistering sores and scarring gashes don’t heal over time, not when they’re on the heart, not when they’re so deep the fibers of a person’s soul start to fray from the damage. 

Madison wasn’t there when Zelena hurt Daddy, but she’s heard the story. She’s seen the pain burned and faded in his eyes, the haunting of a lie and a deception that follows him like a ghost.

Zelena lied.

Lauren was born.

And Mom and Daddy loved her.

They love each other, they love Lauren, they love Madison. 

Mom loves Zelena. Daddy does not. 

It’s to her father Madison goes, searching for her own remorse and coming up short.

When she finds her parents, Mom is asleep, curled up on Daddy’s lap, her head resting on his shoulder and her legs tucked against his side. Mom’s body is small, but she is big, her voice and her presence conquering a room the moment she enters. But she’s always smaller with Daddy, and she looks small now, pain and grief shrinking her down to human size. 

Daddy is watching her. He’s always watching her, gaze flooded with a love that had been bone dry for the most of Mom’s life. His arms encircle her protectively, his love for her outweighing his hate for Zelena.

Madison knocks on the door frame. Daddy looks up.

“Princess,” he says, an echo of dimples making an appearance. “I thought you’d fallen asleep.”

Madison shakes her head, looks from her father to the floor to her mother. “How is she?”

“Heartbroken,” Daddy answers honestly. Honesty. Daddy never lies. Honorable people do not lie. “But she’s resting for now and I’ll take that.”

Madison nods, looks away. Mom is heartbroken. Heartbroken for a sister who she knew and lost and knew again. A sister who believed her life goal to be the destruction of Mom’s happiness. A sister who betrayed and lied and harmed. A sister who Mom loved and hated and loved again. Despite everything. They were sisters.

Half-sisters, but something more.

Broken halves of a destructive legacy born of a woman without a heart. Separated by greed, antagonized by power, reunited and restored by love. By forgiveness. Good came from broken. Good came from Lauren, from their mutual love for a daughter unplanned.

Madison looks at her heartbroken mother again. If they traded places, if Lauren was the one lying dead and cold, would Madison be heartbroken? She hadn’t thought so. She and Lauren have been broken from the start. But good… if good can come from broken, how small can the pieces shatter before the hope of mending is lost?

Madison breathes, long and slow, and for the first time, her heart beats in a pattern that pulses with feeling. With sympathy, with sorrow. With love-  _ love,  _ can you believe it?- for her sister. For Lauren. For the person who understands her, willingly or not, better than anyone.

Daddy extends his hand and Madison goes to him, curls against his side, head on his shoulder, heart in her hands. “Someone is dead because of me,” she breathes.

Daddy nods, cheek pressing to the top of her dark, dark hair. “I know.”

“Zelena is dead because of me.”

Daddy nods again. “I know, princess.”

“I ruined Lauren’s life,” Madison says. “And I didn’t even feel sorry about it.”

Daddy holds her tighter. “And now?”

Madison closes her eyes, heart pulsing stronger with sorrow and sympathy and finally- finally- remorse. “I wish I could fix it,” she whispers.

Daddy kisses the top of her head. “Me too, princess. Me too.”

Madison breathes and lets herself cry.

* * *

They bury Zelena a few days later and it rains, and rains, and rains. The air smells like earth and all things green, ironic in the most bittersweet way. Mom cries and Lauren cries and Daddy holds them both through it all. Madison stands back, away from the rest of them. It’s not her loss to mourn, but it’s her responsibility to shoulder.

There are a small cluster of mourners, most there for Mom or Lauren more so than the woman freshly laid in the ground, but people are there and Madison is grateful. Lauren won’t have to bury her mother alone.

It’s after everyone has left, departed for the wake, that Madison gets to speak to her sister for the first time since their exchange of death threats. Lauren stands, alone, in front of her mother’s coffin, tear stains and rain drops and mud streaks shading her in a hollow mask of grief. Madison approaches, stands beside her, and breathes. Waits. Hopes.

Lauren is empty, that much is clear. Her fight is gone, her fire extinguished. She buried the vitality of her lifeblood today. And Madison is to blame. So Madison waits, and finally, Lauren speaks.

“I know you hated her,” she says, blue eyes stuck on the wooden case before them. “I know you did, but she didn’t hate you. She loved you. Despite everything.”

Madison nods once. “My mom loves you too, you know. Despite everything.”

Lauren exhales, slowly, deeply, blinking in the face of rain and tears. “I know,” she whispers.

The rain falls and time passes, a moment, a minute, two.

“I’m sorry,” Madison murmurs. “For your mom. For… us. For everything.”

Lauren brushes a tear away. “We’re pretty fucked up, huh?” she laughs and cries.

“Yeah. We are.” Madison turns and looks at her shattered other half. “We’re broken. I think we’ve always been broken.”

Lauren sniffs. “Seems that way.” She looks down at her feet, up at her mother, over at her sister. “I don’t hate you, you know,” she says quietly. “I know you think I do, but I don’t.”

Morgan swallows. “I don’t hate you either. I… I did. For a long time. But I realized I shouldn’t, and now… I don’t. Not anymore.”

Lauren shakes her head. “We’re really damaged.”

“Broken,” Madison repeats. “Just like our moms were.”

Lauren glances over. “They turned out alright. In the end, didn’t they?”

Madison meets her eyes. “Yeah. They turned out alright.”

Lauren nods and looks away, back to the coffin that holds her mother. They don’t speak after that, but somewhere, somehow, the rain stops and Madison breathes and Lauren’s hand ends up in her own. The puzzle piece rotates, and starts to fit.

* * *

It’s not easy after that. Years of bitterness and spite often rear their ugly ends, threatening to slash the small threads of hope and sewn-together pieces they’ve worked so hard to mend. Words are sharpened into deadly points, anger tossed around like water on a hot summer day.

Daddy helps. His patience knows no limits and his love even fewer. He’s their buffer, their uniter, their starting point. On the days they feel like killing each other, they resist because of him. Their love for each other may still be conditional, but their love for their father is anything but.

Mom guides. She knows, she sees, she understands. She’s been there, felt that, struggled with this. She roots for them. Replaces the void left empty by Zelena with the braided hope that is their daughters. And how funny, that two generations of Mills women should seek to break the cycle of pain and loneliness and brokenness inherited by their last name. The first succeeded. The second is getting there. Little by little. Piece by piece.

It’s on a late summer morning, months after the pieces first started fitting, that they finally feel as if the last has slid into place. A threat has come to town, one that requires defenses of magic, and Mom lets them help, for once, she lets them help. It’s strange, using magic so intensely, so forcefully, in a capacity neither one has experienced before. And that’s what they are- inexperienced and young and nowhere near as powerful as their mothers yet.

Madison throws a spell. It misses.

Evil and darkness and gnashing teeth come barrelling down.

Lauren throws a spell. It hits, but not effectively.

They throw a spell together. Swirling streams of red and green intertwine and combine and unite and the evil backs away, backs off, cowers for a moment. It’s only a moment, but enough time for Mom and Aunt Emma to strike, to punish, to conquer.

The evil is gone.

Madison looks at Lauren. Lauren looks back.

A final piece slides into place.

And that which was once broken, is finally whole again.

* * *

Half-sisters.

Something more.

Halves.

Sisters.

More.


	11. Borrowed and Stolen

It’s been awhile since he’s ridden a horse that wasn’t stolen. And while this horse isn’t stolen, it’s certainly not his. King Arthur had been kind enough to offer him a choice of any of the prized steeds in the royal stables. Told him to pick whatever horse would most suit his needs for his journey and while Robin appreciates the offer and will most certainly be taking the king up on it, he finds himself loathing to use a horse that is not his own. 

He hasn’t owned a horse since his youth, when his father gifted him a beautiful brown mare for his fifteenth birthday. He lost that horse in a game of poker one drunken night following the death of his father and the plunder of his village by a certain Sheriff of Nottingham. After that, owning a horse just seemed like a hassle when stealing one was so much easier. But now, now it feels like something he should have, a horse of his own, even if Storybrooke isn’t really favorable to such creatures beyond the stables and pastures Regina favors so much.

Regina doesn’t have her own horse anymore either. Maybe he should look into getting one for her back home, an animal fierce and strong and beautiful, just like her. They could ride together, if he managed to get a horse for himself as well, and it would be good for her, having something to relieve stress, work off all the pressure piled onto her shoulders daily. He should take her riding today, before he leaves. Help her relax, untie those knots that always form in her neck, let her breath some air that isn’t thick with the dust of ancient books and long-forgotten libraries.

“There you are,” Regina, coincidentally, says as she pushes open the gate to the stables, her red cloak brushing over the ground with each step.

God, she’s a vision here. She’s always a vision, but it’s something about these Camelot garments, the cut and fit of her dress, that striking red, something that makes her more stunning than usual, despite the dark circles under her eyes and the knots in her neck.

Robin abandons the saddle he had been adjusting on his borrowed horse’s back and turns to greet her with a smile. “The Savior emerges from her book prison,” he teases lightly, extending his hand toward her.

Regina rolls her eyes at the title, but smiles, lacing her fingers with his and letting him pull her closer. “You’re lucky you’re leaving soon. Otherwise, I’d roast you for that one,” she warns as she leans up on her tiptoes and presses a short kiss to his lips.

“Noted,” Robin chuckles. He wraps an arm around her waist, keeping her close. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you before you left,” Regina replies, skating her fingers up his chest to straighten out the buttons on his tunic. “And… to try one more time to convince you not to go.”

Robin gives her a patient look, reminiscent of the one he gave her this morning and last night. “Regina-”

“I just wish you wouldn’t,” she interrupts, glancing up at him. “Let Arthur find his own Holy Grail if he needs it so damn much.”

“He  _ did  _ find it,” Robin reminds her. “And Morgan Le Fey stole it from him. He needs someone to steal it back.”

“I know, but why does it have to be you?” Regina demands, fingers fisting loosely in the fabric of his shirt. “He has hundreds of trained knights under his command. What can’t he just send some of them?”

“Because he requires the best thief in all the realms,” Robin boasts jokingly, hoping to earn a smile and falling a frown short. He sighs and brings his other arm to wrap around her, pulling her snugly against him. “I’ll be fine, my love. I have plenty of experience stealing from powerful sorceresses. Maleficent, Zelena, you-”

“Me?” Regina interrupts sharply. “What do you mean me?”

Robin ducks his head sheepishly. “Uh… I might have broken into your castle once.”

“You  _ what?” _ Regina exclaims, eyebrows skyrocketing. “When? How?” Her eyes narrow as she stares at him hard, overly dramatic suspicion coloring her face. “What did you steal?”

“Just some jewels sitting in a room gathering dust,” Robin defends. “You didn’t even realize they were missing, obviously. And you weren’t there when I broke in anyway. You were away at your summer castle.”

“Oh, so you were too afraid to break in when I was actually there? Scared of the Evil Queen’s wrath, thief?” Regina teases, curling her fingers tighter in the fabric of his shirt, bringing her face closer to his.

“If I was, I wouldn’t have stolen from you again,” Robin replies, voice lowering.

“Again? What  _ else  _ have you stolen from me?” Regina asks, her mouth close enough to his that her breath washes over his lips.

“Mm, a lot of things,” Robin murmurs. “Smiles, touches…” He squeezes her hips. “Gasps and moans…” She rolls her eyes at that, thwaps his shoulder lightly. “But you know what my favorite things I’ve stolen from you are?”

“What?” Regina breathes, brushing her nose against his.

Robin doesn’t answer. Instead, he closes the small distance between their mouths, relishing in the moan that sounds from Regina’s throat. Her lips move wonderfully against his, always so soft, so lovely, so deliciously full. She smells like lavender oil and the soaps from the washroom in their chambers, different from how she smells in Storybrooke, but intoxicating all the same. 

It’s been awhile since he’s gotten to kiss her like this, since they’ve gotten to be alone in any capacity. Sure, they share chambers and a bed, but lately she’s pushed herself to the point of exhaustion every night, either falling asleep the moment her head hit her pillow or succumbing to her tiredness at a table littered with large books written in dead languages. On those nights, the most time Robin gets to spend with her is when he carries her to bed, leaving the mysteries of Merlin to be solved another day. And now he won’t even have that because he’s leaving today, for an indeterminate amount of time, and normally he wouldn’t mind it, leaving for an adventure, but now he’s leaving  _ her _ , and he can barely stand the thought, not after he’s left her so many times already.

She slides her palms from his chest up to his neck and hair, one hand splaying along his jaw, the other fisting loosely at the back of his head, her teeth nipping his bottom lip. Robin groans and walks her back two steps, pressing her against the gate post of the stall. He fiddles with the silver clasp on her cloak until it unhooks and the velvety fabric slides from her shoulders, dropping onto the hay covered ground.

“Robin,” she breathes into the space between their mouths. “We can’t… get carried away… not here…”

He’d answer her, but he’s just been given a whole new expanse of her to explore- her bare shoulders, the contours of her waist and chest and ass, and he is a little too distracted to form a coherent reply at the moment. So he doesn’t answer her, and instead kisses his way down the side of her neck to the hollow of her shoulder, licking and sucking in a way that makes her fingers tighten in his hair and a gasp to tumble out of her mouth.

He’s supposed to leave soon, leave very soon, but he can spare some time, spare enough time to make up for all the time they haven’t gotten to spend together since arriving in this blasted kingdom, so he nips his way down to the beaded edge of her dress, dipping his tongue underneath the fabric to taste the skin still hidden from his view. Regina shivers and presses her hips closer to his, grinds herself just so against his hardening length, earns herself a groan and a squeeze to her ass. Oh yes, he can spare more than enough time to have his wicked way with her, right here, right-

A sharp sting strikes across his cheek as his borrowed horse whinnies loudly.

“Ow!” Robin yelps, pulling his head up in surprise.

Regina snickers, her hand covering her smile. “The horses must have a rule about no fooling around in the stables,” she laughs, rubbing her thumb over where the horse’s mane had struck his cheek.

Robin gives his horse a glare, wondering if he’s ever been cockblocked (and what a funny word- Hook had accidentally taught it to him when he was lamenting his own failings at having Emma to himself) by an animal before. “And I receive no sympathy for my pain,” he gripes dramatically.

Regina laughs again, leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek. “There. All better?”

“Would have been better if I hadn’t been interrupted in the first place,” Robin grumbles.

“I told you we couldn’t get carried away,” Regina reminds him, placing both hands on his chest and giving him a gentle push backward.

He steps away from her, but barely, loathe to leave the warmth of her closeness and the feel of her pressed tight against him. “I just miss you, my love,” he sighs, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “And knowing I won’t get to see you for awhile…”

“I know,” Regina admits sullenly. “I feel like I’ve seen you for all of five minutes since we’ve been here.” She glances down, bites her lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

She looks back up. “For spending so much time in the library and not enough with you and Henry and Roland. It’s my fault you’re all feeling neglected.”

Robin shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant, love. I just meant I wish you didn’t have to work so hard. You’re wearing yourself out.” He offers a grin. “And maybe I’m a little selfish and wish to have you all to myself every now and then. Just to assure myself you’re still here with me.”

Regina half smiles, dropping her gaze to his chest, where her palm rests over his heart. “I know that feeling,” she murmurs.

She’s thinking about the other night, when he nearly slipped from her grasp at the slice of a sword, and they can’t have that, can’t have her dwelling on something that’s in the past, something that’s caused her enough grief and pain already. So Robin hooks a finger under her chin and kisses her softly, lingering until he’s sure any bit of guilt has dissipated from her mind.

“I have an hour or so before I have to leave,” he says quietly, wrapping a lock of her hair around his finger. “Go riding with me for a bit? Get some fresh air and work off some stress?”

Regina’s smile widens and for the first time since they’ve arrived in Camelot, she looks genuinely happy. “I suppose I could spare an hour,” she teases, bending down to grab her cloak off the stable ground. She brushes off loose pieces of hay and then wraps it around her shoulders, resecuring the clasp and unfortunately hiding all the glorious skin Robin had just revealed.

“Arthur has some beautiful mares,” Robin comments, turning his back to her as he buckles the last few straps of his borrowed horse’s saddle. “He said pick whichever ones we like.”

“Oh, I think I quite like this one,” Regina says from behind him and then it’s a flurry of red as she suddenly mounts the very horse he just saddled.

Robin blinks up at her as she smiles sweetly from atop his mare, petting the side of the horse’s neck. “Um, I do believe that is  _ my  _ horse, milady,” Robin says, crossing his arms.

“Well, come on then, if it’s  _ your  _ horse,” Regina replies, patting the spot behind her on the saddle. “Or would you like to find a new one?”

Well then… would he rather get to wrap his arms around her for an hour as they trot through the forest, or spend an hour cold and alone on his own horse? There has never been a more obvious answer.

Robin smirks as he grabs hold of the saddle and swings himself up, pressing himself tight to her back, curling an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to the top of her shoulder. “Where to, my love?” he asks.

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” Regina answers, picking up the reins. “Guess we’ll know when we get there.” And with that, she digs her heel into the horse’s side and clicks her tongue, starting them off at an easy gate as they make their way down the grassy hillside. It’s a bit chilly, but sunny, and the breeze blows just enough that Robin gets a whiff of the sweet smell of her hair every so often. He hugs her close as they head for the treeline, content to have an hour with only her and nothing to do until life and responsibilities catch up to them again.


	12. New York City Christmas

Cities are weird. They look weird, and they sound weird, and they  _ smell  _ weird. It’s like everything in the whole wide world is happening at the exact same time in the exact same place and you can’t turn your head fast enough to see and hear and smell everything. Henry said cities are exciting, but what’s so exciting about being in a place that’s so loud you can’t hear your new boots make  _ clip-clop _ noises as you walk? And what’s worse, all the sounds mash together until it just sounds like loudness and hurt ears.

The city doesn’t make sense. And it makes even  _ less  _ sense to go to the city to celebrate Christmas- a day all about  _ trees-  _ in a place that has, like,  _ zero trees  _ (zero means none and zero is a number that comes before one. Miss Herman said you can remember that because ‘none’ and ‘one’ sound the same) _.  _

They should go to the forest for Christmas. The forest has so many trees that they wouldn’t even have to cut one down and put it up in the house (Papa said it doesn’t make sense to do that and Regina said he needs to stop being a treehugger, but Roland’s never seen Papa hug a tree, so that doesn’t really make sense either).

But they don’t go to the forest. They go to the city (Henry said it’s a new city, but it doesn’t look new) and now everything is  _ loud  _ and  _ cold  _ and there are no trees  _ anywhere _ . And he doesn’t even know  _ why  _ they’re in the city because Regina said it’s a surprise, and normally that’d be a good thing, but how many good surprises could be in the city? Maybe like… four at the most.

At least he can see. Papa is suuuuper tall and when Roland sits on his shoulders, he’s even taller than that, so he’s like the tallest person in the whole world, probably, and now at least he can see all the weird things that make weird noises and weird smells.

Although… that smell isn’t weird. That smell is  _ good.  _ And it’s been, like, seventy hours since they had breakfast and they’ve been walking for almost that long and Roland’s tummy is starting to make silly noises. Henry normally knows when to ask for food, but Henry’s far out in front of Papa with Miss Emma and Captain Killian and that’s not much help, is it?

Hmm, Regina usually gives him food when he asks, if he’s polite enough, and she’s been in a really good mood for a really long time, so maybe she’ll help him out. He turns and looks at her walking next to Papa. He could touch the top of her head if he wanted, but he doesn’t want to mess up her pretty red hat, not after Papa said he “quite fancies that color,” so he doesn’t touch. He straightens up and smiles his biggest smile, the one that Regina says she loves so much, and calls out her name sweetly.

She turns her head and smiles up at him. “Yes, Roland?”

“I’m hungry,” he says, bouncing a bit on Papa’s shoulders. “Can we eat something?”

“Roland, please don’t wiggle,” Papa says, holding onto his knee to stop his moving.

Regina twists her mouth to the side and pulls her phone out of her pocket. Roland smiles proudly at the picture of him and Henry on her screen. He looks very handsome in that picture, or at least that’s what Miss Snow said.

“Well, it’s not exactly lunchtime, but we did eat breakfast early so I suppose you could have a snack,” Regina says, putting her phone away. “What would you like to eat?”

“Whatever that smell is!” Roland answers, starting to bounce again but stopping when Papa squeezes his knee.

Regina looks around for a bit and then nods. “I think that can be arranged. Henry!” she calls.

Henry turns and starts walking backward (Regina always says he shouldn’t do that because he could trip and get hurt or run into something, but Henry’s not always the best listener). “Yeah?” he answers.

“Why don’t you grab a couple of those pretzels for you and Roland as a snack?” Regina suggests, sticking a finger out and pointing (which is not polite, says Miss Herman).

Henry looks where she points and then nods, turning around and saying something to Miss Emma.

Two minutes later, Roland is in a much better mood as he munches on a warm soft pretzel with just the right amount of mustard. 

“Roland, please be careful not to get salt or mustard in my hair,” Papa says, twisting his head a bit until his nose bumps Roland’s knee.

“I won’t,” Roland answers around a mouthful of pretzel. There’s salt sticking to his mittens and he was going to brush it off on Papa’s shoulders, but apparently that’s not a good idea. He’ll just brush it off on his jeans instead.

“Are you excited for your surprise, Roland?” Regina asks, pulling on the brim of her pretty red hat.

He shrugs. “I guess, but I dunno what it is.”

Papa laughs. “Well, that’s what a surprise is, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but the city is weird and that means all the surprises in the city are weird too,” Roland explains, licking a glob of mustard off the side of his mouth.

“That’s not necessarily true,” Regina says just as Henry jogs back to walk beside Papa.

“Mom wants to know if we’re going to go I-C-E S-K-A-T-I-N-G,” Henry whispers loudly.

Roland scowls. He  _ hates  _ when the big people spell things. He’s not the bestest speller ever, but he’s learning real hard in school and how’s he supposed to know what people are talking about if they spell a bunch of stuff? It’s really not fair.

“Maybe,” Regina answers. “If it’s not too crowded and if the snow holds off.”

Henry nods and then scurries back up to Miss Emma and Captain Killian.

“Papa, what did Henry spell?” Roland asks as he chews the last bite of pretzel.

But Papa isn’t listening because Regina is suddenly a lot closer than she was before and her hand is moving up and down Papa’s arm and she’s smiling that smile that she only gives Papa and she’s saying something that Roland can’t hear and then Papa’s smiling too and  _ gross,  _ he kisses Regina on the mouth and Roland wants to throw up all the pretzel he just ate.

Grown ups are yucky.

“Blech,” he grouses loudly, causing Regina to turn her head and look up at him, eyebrow raised. 

“Can I help you?” she asks in the way that means she isn’t actually asking him if he needs help. Which doesn’t make sense, but grown ups say stuff like that a lot.

“Just ‘cause Henry isn’t around doesn’t mean you can be gross,” Roland states, hands on his hips.

“Kissing isn’t gross,” Papa says. “Regina gives you kisses all the time and you never complain about those.”

“Well  _ yeah,  _ because the kisses she gives me aren’t gross.”

“Oh, and the ones she gives me are?”

Roland nods. “Yeah. It's like you're eating her face.”

Regina snorts and covers her mouth, grinning at Papa from behind her glove. Roland can't see Papa's face but he can imagine he is making that face he makes when Henry drinks the last of the orange juice. Papa leans closer to Regina and whispers something into her ear that sounds like, “...not the only thing… like to eat…”

Regina punches Papa in the arm and it looks like she's mad but she's not actually because she starts laughing, and then Papa laughs too and Roland rolls his eyes.

Grown ups. They're so weird.

“Mom!” Henry calls over his shoulder. He points up ahead and Regina nods.

“Okay!” she calls back before looking up at Roland. “Are you ready for your surprise?”

He nods. “Uh huh. Is it a good surprise or a bad surprise?”

“How could a surprise be bad?” Papa asks.

“When Regina surprises me by saying I have to take a bath before bed. That's a bad surprise.”

Regina chuckles. “Well, this is a good surprise, sweetheart. I promise.”

They get to a crosswalk and stop walking because the sign on the other side of the street is red and you can't cross until it's green or else you could get hit by a car and get squished all flat like a pancake. A truck honks its horn and Roland jumps. Ugh, why is the city so loud?

The light changes to green and they cross the street. Roland tilts his head back until his neck hurts, looking up at the ginormous building that stretches all the way up to the clouds. Henry said the tall buildings are called skyscrapers, but they really should be called cloudpunchers because they punch right through the clouds so high that you can’t see the top.

“Whoa,” Roland marvels, scratching his head through his knit hat. “That’s the hugest building I’ve ever seen.”

Regina smiles. “Just wait. Close your eyes, okay? I’ll tell you when to open.”

Roland looks at her skeptically, but obeys, pinching his eyes shut so tight that bright colored spots explode behind his eyelids. He squeezes tighter and tighter, trying to make the colors burst into flames because in the story of Peter Pan, Peter says that you can see what Neverland looks like if you squeeze yours eyes shut so tight that the colors in your eyes look like they’re on fire and then right before they catch, Neverland will appear. Regina doesn’t like to read the Peter Pan story for bedtime, but Papa will if Roland asks really nice, and every time, he tries to see what Neverland looks like, but it never seems to-

“Okay, sweetheart,” Regina says. “You can open your eyes.”

Roland listens and blinks, squinting against the sunlight, confused, because it doesn’t look like there’s any surprise anywhere, but then he gasps.

A tree. The biggest, tallest, most gigantic tree he’s ever seen stands in front of the huge building from earlier, and there are lights, so many lights spotted all over every branch, and they glitter in the sun, and the colors are so much better than any Neverland colors he could ever think of. And there’s a star on the very tip top, just like the one Regina let him put on the tree at home, but this one is so much bigger and brighter and  _ perfect.  _ Everything about the tree is perfect and all Roland can do is stare in awe.

Papa tilts his head back. “Well, son? What do you think? Pretty impressive, huh?”

Roland looks down. “Papa, have you ever seen a tree so big?”

He chuckles. “No, my boy. I don’t believe I have.”

And that’s saying something. Papa’s seen everything. “Regina, have  _ you  _ ever seen a tree so big? Even in the ‘Chanted Forest?”

Regina shakes her head. “No, I can’t say I have.” She’s smiling her best smile, the one she saves for special occasions, and she looks quite happy, especially when Henry comes over and wraps his arm around her shoulders.

“Henry, have you ever seen-”

“Nope, I haven’t, buddy,” Henry answers. “This is the biggest tree there is. You’ll never find a bigger one.”

Papa reaches up and lifts Roland from his shoulders, setting him down on the ground in front of him. There’s probably a million people walking all around, but Roland ignores them and takes a few steps toward the tree. It seems to get more magical the closer he gets. He turns around. “Papa, can we  _ climb  _ it?” he asks excitedly.

Papa laughs. “No, son, I don’t think we can. We can take a picture in front of it, if you’d like. So that way we can take it with us when we leave.”

Roland bounces on his toes and giggles. “Yes please!”

They take a whole bunch of pictures, and Roland can’t decide which one he likes the best. There’s one with him and Papa and Regina and Henry, and then one with just him and Henry, and then one with just him and Papa, and then Regina and “her boys” as she says, and then Papa with just Regina because he tricked her into taking one because she didn’t want to take one, but he was stealthy and had Henry sneak one just as Papa was kissing her in front of the tree (Roland’s positive  _ that  _ one’s not his favorite because kissing is gross). Miss Emma and Captain Killian take a bunch of pictures too, and then they take one with everyone all together and by the time they finish, Roland thinks his cheeks might just fall off.

They head off to find some lunch after that (thank goodness because it’s been, like, forty hours since the soft pretzel), and Henry must be in a really good mood because he gives Roland a piggyback ride the whole way to the restaurant. As they walk, the city doesn’t seem so smelly and loud anymore. Suddenly, Roland can smell pizza and popcorn and something spicy that would make Papa’s tummy hurt and the smell of cookies that drifts out from an open bakery door. And he doesn’t just hear noise, he hears bright silver bells jingling on street corners and Christmas music pouring from saxophone players on the sidewalk and people laughing and talking as they walk from store to store and street to street. And Regina’s laughing too, and that’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard, and it’s even better when Papa laughs with her.

So maybe the city isn’t so bad. At least at Christmas. Because at Christmas, the city has magical sounds and tasty smells and the most perfect tree in the whole wide world. And at Christmas, he gets to enjoy all the best things with all the best people. And at Christmas, that’s enough.


	13. Hearts on Top

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monday/Day 1 of OQ Happy Endings Week. Bandit OQ.

They’re not together, her and Robin. Partners in crime, sure. People who share a mutual interest in the other’s safety, yes. But not together. They flirt often, and there’s an obvious attraction on both sides, but neither one has dared to breach the unknown question of what exactly ‘they’ are. They play games, try to see who can hide emotion better behind insults and barbed jests. It’s better that way. They have enough on their plates thanks to Snow’s vendetta against Regina. They don’t need to add things like feelings to the clusterfuck of their lives.

So no, they’re not together. Which means Regina has absolutely no idea why Robin is so pissed at the moment.

“You are  _ unbelievable!”  _ she shouts, storming into the room. She doesn’t bother to hold the door and lets it swing back, nearly smacking Robin in the face as he stalks after her.

“ _ I’m  _ unbelievable?” he says incredulously, throwing his bow and quiver down on the table carelessly. “I’m not the one risking our lives over a pint!”

“Oh, be more dramatic, won’t you?” Regina sighs in frustration.

Robin scowls, fists curling at her condescending tone. “Wanting to keep us from the gallows is not being dramatic,” he argues. “And you’re lucky I stepped in when I did, otherwise-”

“ _ Otherwise,  _ I wouldn’t be covered in ale,” Regina snaps, gesturing to the large wet stain all down her front. “And  _ otherwise,  _ I wouldn’t be here trying to yell some sense into your stupidly thick skull. I’d be enjoying the company of a very fine-looking knight, who I am sure is not anywhere close to as irritating as you are.”

“Sure, you’d be enjoying his company all right,” Robin mocks. “Right up until he tied a hangman’s noose around your neck.”

Regina rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. We’re on the outer edge of the northernmost kingdom. He didn’t even know who I was.”

“If he didn’t know who you were, he was either blind, or his skull was just as stupidly thick as you say mine is,” Robin retorts, untying his cloak and practically throwing it over the back of a chair.

Regina glares, crossing her arms, her nails digging into her biceps. He’s an idiot, a complete idiot, a moron, an imbecile, a half-witted fool with crumbs for brains. The knight she was talking to in the tavern had no clue who she was, there was absolutely zero chance of anything going wrong, and yet this… this… this  _ dumbass  _ thought it fit to put himself where he was not wanted and get in the middle of some rather delicious flirting that was most definitely going to turn into some even more delicious foreplay. Foreplay that could have turned into pillowtalk about just how much information northern knights have on her whereabouts. But just as she was about to get an invitation to take their conversation somewhere more private, Robin had to go and bump into the knight, knocking the beer out of his hand and all over Regina, effectively ruining any chance she had of enjoying some intimate company this evening.

“Well, I hope you’re  _ happy,”  _ Regina snips, pulling at the ties on her vest. “Because you attracted the attention of everyone in the bar with your little stunt. If Snow’s guards didn’t know where we were before, they certainly do now.”

“Granny won’t rat us out,” Robin says, though his voice doesn’t carry much confidence.

“You think a horde of guards is going to listen to an old innkeeper?” Regina scoffs, tugging on her vest strings, slowly working her way up her stomach. “Try again, thief. Snow gets word we’re here, guards will be knocking on our door before sunrise.”

Robin scowls, crossing his arms petulantly. “Well, don’t go blaming me for this. I wouldn’t have had to make a scene if you had just…”

Regina reaches the top of her vest and pulls until the strings are loose enough for her to tug it off, dropping it on the bed without much thought. “If I had just what?” she challenges, eyebrows arched as she turns back around to face him.

Her pulse doubles when she sees the look in his eyes, the dark depths of his pupils blown wide as he stares at her. Her skin prickles with self-consciousness and she glances down at herself, swallowing when she realizes the wet spot on the front of her vest had soaked through to her white tunic underneath, rendering the fabric quite see-through… and quite stuck to her skin. Regina crosses her arms in an attempt to divert Robin’s attention from her accidentally-bared torso, but if his sharp inhale is an indication, she only made the situation worse, thanks to her now pushed-up cleavage, so she drops her arms entirely and dares to look back up at him.

Mistake.

Lustful isn’t the right word for his expression. There’s lust, yes, but an unabashed and open  _ wanting  _ in his eyes that conveys so much more than basic desire. Regina swallows again, mouth going dry at the mounting tension in the suddenly quiet room. She’s torn between covering herself back up, and waiting for Robin to do something other than stare at her.

She opts for the latter.

He blinks, stares, and then blinks again, dropping his eyes to the ground as a bright blush colors his cheeks. “I’d appreciate it if you were more careful next time,” he says after clearing his throat. His voice is a bit tight, as if he needs something to drink. “Maybe direct your flirting to someone who doesn’t have a sword strapped to his belt?”

Regina fiddles with the strings hanging down from her tunic collar. “And why do you care?” she asks, more curious now than angry. The way he was looking at her just now… he can’t just be concerned about not getting caught. There’s something else driving his sudden bout of protectiveness, and she fears she knows exactly what that something is. Fears she feels it too.

Robin glances back up at her quickly and then looks away again, scratching the back of his head. “Well, I’d hate to have to haul my men all the way to the Queen’s castle to save your arse from the gallows,” he deflects. “Bit of a ride, that is, and the horses are still tired from today’s job, and the men are probably plastered by now, so if you got captured, well, that would just be terribly inconvenient for all parties involved, wouldn’t it?”

“And that’s what made you so upset?” Regina murmurs, taking a few slow steps toward him, ignoring the pounding of her heart. “The…  _ inconvenience  _ of my hypothetical capture?”

“Well, uh… no… but, I mean… yes at the same time, I guess,” Robin stammers, eyes darting around the room as his ability to look at places that are Not Regina slowly decreases with every step she takes.

“And you weren’t bothered at all by the thought of me and that knight taking a room for the evening?” she asks lowly, voice dropping to a level that makes Robin swallow thickly. She’s right in front of him now, a few sparse inches between her body and his, and try as he might to resist, his eyes snap back to the front of her shirt, to the deep vee of skin out for perusal, to the translucent fabric that clings to indecent places.

“You weren’t bothered by the thought of me… touching him?” she continues, reaching out two fingers and walking them up the front of Robin’s vest, hooking into the space between two clasps. She rises onto her tiptoes to bring her mouth up to his ear, the breathiness of her voice making goosebumps flare on his neck. “Of him touching me?”

Robin squeezes his eyes shut tightly and shakes his head. “No… why would that bother me?” he manages, hands clenched into fists of restraint by his sides. 

He’s good at playing this game. They’ve been playing it for months after all, the two of them, constantly sparing back and forth, waiting for the other to yield or strike, each taking and delivering blows while pretending their dodging doesn’t hurt as much as it does. But Regina has been playing games her whole life. Games of life and death, games of chance, games of pain, and she doesn’t want to play anymore. She wants to shuffle the deck and lets the cards fall where they will. And maybe, for once, the hearts will land on top.

“I didn’t want that knight to touch me,” Regina confesses, keeping her eyes trained on Robin’s until he’s compelled to meet her gaze.

His brow quirks in confusion. “Then why did you-”

“I want  _ you  _ to touch me,” she whispers, reaching down for his hand and slowly opening his fist. She rests his palm on her hip, heart pounding even faster at the sharp inhale of breath he takes. “And I…” she threads her fingers through his hair, angling his face down to hers. “Want to touch you.”

Her words end on a breath, lips parted, hovering just below his, deciding whether to wait for Robin to do something other than stare at her or close the distance between them herself.

She opts for the latter. 

* * *

Sunshine streams through the cracks in the wooden shutters, casting thin, golden lines of morning on the floor, across the bed. Regina wakes without a start for once, her eyes fluttering open slowly, squinting slightly against the dim brightness of the day. She stretches and yawns, turning over onto her side to be greeted by a warm smile and sleepy blue eyes.

“Good morning,” Robin says lowly, voice raspy and intimate. He slides a hand over her side, pressing lightly into the small of her back, bringing her closer to him. Her bare skin prickles with goosebumps at his touch, heart pitter-pattering at the look of contentment and love on his face.

“Mm, morning,” she returns, leaning in close until their noses touch, tilting just enough to brush her lips against his. “Did you sleep well?”

Robin nods, stealing another kiss from her lips before dotting one on her nose and another on her forehead. “Best sleep I’ve had in a very long time, especially considering I didn’t have to listen to John’s snoring,” he teases, grin widening at her breathy laugh. “Ah, there it is.” He brings his hand up to cup her cheek, fingers threading into her hair. “There’s that elusive yet satisfying smile I think about every time I close my eyes.”

Regina can do nothing but melt at that, heart feeling full in a way she’s never experienced before. She props herself up on her elbows and leans down for a proper kiss, fusing their mouths together as she pushes him onto his back and straddles his hips, laying herself down until they’re pressed together from chest to calf. She breaks the kiss just long enough to catch her breath, helpless to the smile that obstinately refuses to abate. She feels wanted, safe, and, yes, loved, for the first time in… well, forever. The hearts have landed on top. And since they are done playing games, there is no point in not voicing what they’ve both been feeling for the several months, is there?

“Robin?” she whispers, intoning it like a question even though she already has his full attention.

“Yes?” he replies, rubbing his thumb gently along her bottom lip. His eyes are so kind, so open, and she lets herself drown in them.

“I love you.”

It’s a quiet confession, something akin to a prayer or a wish, but she’s never had much luck with either. Left too often to fend and fight for herself, damning fate for abandoning her so. But Robin’s answer is more precious to her than any gift from the gods or any falling star.

“I love you, too, darling. Always.”

Regina smiles his favorite smile and presses her forehead to his. “Always, hm?”

“Yeah,” Robin breathes, closing the distance between them. “Always.”


	14. Until The Storm Has Passed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OQ Happy Endings Day 2/Tuesday. Camelot OQ.

Regina wakes with a terrifying start, heart stopping at a crack of thunder so loud the bed shakes. She squeaks at a sudden flash of lightning, nails digging into Robin’s chest as he stirs, legs shifting beneath her. “S’evrthin ‘kay?” he mumbles, hand coasting uncoordinated up and down her side.

Another crack of thunder answers his question.

Regina grits her teeth and presses her nose to his chest as if she can hide herself from the storm in his warmth. Gone is the content sleepiness of only moments prior, tension coursing through her muscles in its wake. She hates thunderstorms. Hates, hates, hates them. Mother and Leopold had each instilled in her an intense fear of loud noises, the slam of a door or the breaking of an object always signaling anger and pain and tears. Robin knows she despises storms and if the way he squeezes her hand at a flash of lightning is any indication, he hasn’t forgotten.

“You alright, love?” he asks quietly, sleep leaving his voice.

Regina starts to nod, but thinks better of it. He’ll see right through her anyway, so she switches and shakes her head just as another rumble of thunder rolls through the sky.

Robin drops a kiss to the top of her head and slides out of bed, making his way through their darkened room. Regina sits up, nerves amplified by his absence beside her. “Where are you going?” she asks, hating the way her voice quivers and shakes.

“Just relighting the fire,” Robin answers over the sound of wood knocking together. There’s the distinct  _ shing  _ of flint on steel, a spray of sparks, and then the orange glow of a fire slowly coming back to life. She can make out the barest outline of Robin’s figure as he crouches in front of the fireplace, rearranging and prodding the logs until a few strong flames emerge, casting a soft light around the room. 

Robin dusts his hands off as he stands. “That should keep until the storm passes.”

As if on cue, a flash of lightning skitters across the sky, a sharp roll of thunder coming not long after. Regina jumps and reaches for Robin as he makes his way back to the bed, yanking him to her as she lays back down and pulls the covers up tight again. He  _ oofs  _ a bit in surprise, but doesn’t comment on her haste to hunker beneath their quilts and furs, and she is grateful for it. Just because he knows she’s afraid, doesn’t mean she isn’t embarrassed by it.

“I feel like a child,” she mutters after another particularly loud crack of thunder has her turning her face harder into his shoulder.

“Nonsense,” Robin dismisses. “There’s nothing childish about being afraid.” He kisses her forehead and pulls her in closer, encompassing her in a warmth that makes her shiver. “You know, back in Sherwood, whenever it stormed, the men and I, we'd make a game of it. We’d all try to fire an arrow at a tree and time it just right so the arrow stuck when the thunder cracked, and whoever had the best timing won.”

Regina smiles against his neck. “And did you ever win?”

“I always won, milady” Robin boasts proudly. 

“You and your timing,” she chuckles, sucking in a breath as lightning illuminates the room. Robin cups his hand against the back of her head, pressing her to him as the thunder starts to crackle a few moments later. The thunder settles, but the little boy sleeping just a room over does not, a frightened “Papa!” sounding through the castle’s thick stone walls.

“You’re not the only one who hates thunderstorms, it would seem,” Robin muses. He kisses her forehead and then moves to slide out of bed once more, stopping when Regina, sitting up again, grabs his hand.

“Don’t take too long,” she requests.

Robin smiles and leans in to steal a kiss from her lips. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he promises, hurrying his pace when Roland calls for him again.

She watches him go and pulls the covers up over her bent knees, burying her face in the softness of the quilt as the rain picks up, sputtering furiously against the windows. She curses her mother and Leopold for conditioning such a fear in her. The crack of the thunder is nothing compared to the sting of a palm or the lick of a blade, but it hurts and harms and scares all the same.

More thunder rumbles, not quite as loud, but longer and lingering, the sound slowly dying off in the distance. That she can handle. It’s not so sudden, not so sharp. It doesn’t catch her off guard as much. She wishes they were back in Storybrooke, wishes they weren’t in some unfamiliar castle in an unfamiliar land. She’s already on edge here in Camelot, and the jittery nerves that erupt with every rumble of thunder certainly do not help.

“See?” Robin’s soft voice comes from the doorway. “She’s awake too.”

“R’gina?” a small voice mumbles.

She looks up to see Roland in his father’s arms, hair sticking up in all directions as he clutches his stuffed monkey to his chest, a few drying tear tracks shining on his cheeks. “Yes, sweetheart?” 

“Can I come sleep with you and Papa?” the little boy asks, rubbing his eyes. “The thunder is scary.”

“Of course, baby. Come here,” Regina answers, folding back the comforter and patting the space beside her.

Robin sets him down on the floor. Roland scurries over and scrambles up into bed, foregoing the spot Regina had indicated in favor of her lap. He tucks his legs around either side of her hips and curls against her chest, monkey held tightly to his stomach. 

Regina presses a kiss to the top of his head, wrapping her arms around his torso. “It’s alright, baby, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” she comforts even as she waits impatiently for Robin to get back into bed so he can comfort her in turn.

“I don’t like thunderstorms,” Roland mumbles miserably, his voice muffled in his monkey’s fur.

“Me neither,” Regina sighs, hugging him close as thunder sounds once again.

Robin crawls back in beside her and leans back against the headboard, opening his arms for Regina to scoot back and snuggle in close again. Once she’s safely tucked into him, Roland tucked into her, he reaches for the covers and cocoons the three of them in cozy warmth. Regina closes her eyes and exhales, flinching only slightly at the next crack of thunder.

“Papa said the thunder is ‘cuz the giants in the sky are fighting and wrestling and knocking over all the trees,” Roland states, popping his head up. “Right, Papa?”

Robin nods. “That’s right, son. Like when Uncle John and Uncle Much wrestle.”

Roland giggles. “They look funny when they do that.”

“I can imagine,” Regina mutters under her breath, earning a good-natured poke to the ribs from Robin. “I don’t think I would enjoy watching two large, grown men wrestle in the dirt for fun.”

“Oh, it’s not for fun. They do it for exercise,” Robin explains.

Regina laughs. “Exercise? Those two-”

Thunder cuts her off, a particularly loud, nasty clap that has Roland squeaking as he hugs her tightly. “I wish the giants would stop fighting!” he exclaims, bringing his monkey up to his face. “I don’t like it when they fight!”

“Me neither,” Henry says from the doorway, scratching the back of his head and causing all three to look up.

“You’re ‘fraid of the thunder, too, Henry?” Roland asks.

Henry nods as he lopes his way over to the bed, smiling sheepishly at his mother. Thunder had always been a fear of Henry’s, ever since he was little, and even though he has realler, more scary things to worry about now that he’s older, he still jumps at a clap of thunder.

Regina pulls back the covers and scoots over, making room for her eldest to cuddle his way into her side, resting his head on the shoulder unoccupied by Roland. Regina drops a kiss to Henry’s hair as she rocks Roland back and forth, closing her eyes to listen to the drumming of the rain outside. That sound is soothing, she could instantly fall asleep to the easy pitter patter of a summer shower, but no sooner has she closed her eyes than lightning flares through the room again. A few seconds pass and then the thunder follows, a low growl that quickly escalates to a sharp crash.

Roland whimpers against her chest as Henry winces, turning his head against her shoulder. And Regina, try as she might, can’t help but tense up until the rumble has passed. 

Robin presses a sympathetic kiss to her temple and then lifts his arm from around her back to reach for Roland, pulling him off her lap and onto his. “How about we have a story while we wait for the storm to pass?” he suggests, shifting until he’s more slouched against the headboard so Roland can lay on his chest.

Regina opens her now empty arms for Henry, who wastes no time in snuggling into her embrace, warming her heart at his open display of affection despite his age. “A story, hm?” she echoes, tilting her head to rest on Robin’s shoulder. “What kind of story?”

“One of Papa’s stories,” Roland insists. He sounds awake, but his eyes are drooping, the late hour getting the better of him in spite of his fear. “Papa tells the best stories.”

“It should be a story about all of us,” Henry chimes in, yawning big and wide. “All of us on some great adventure.”

Robin chuckles, low and warm, as he rubs a soothing hand up Roland’s back. “Alright. Let’s see… I think I may know just the tale. Once upon a time, there was a queen, and she was the most beautiful queen in all the realms…”

* * *

Robin doesn’t count his blessings often. He’s not a terribly reflective man. He sees life for what it is and doesn’t stop to ponder it that much. But tonight, as the rages of a summer thunderstorm fizzle into soft drops of rain on the window, thunder and lightning lost to the distance, he takes a moment to stop and just look at the three blessings beside him.

Roland had fallen asleep near the beginning of the story. He is only four, after all. His eyelids had drooped and fluttered for a few minutes until he couldn’t resist the call of sleep any longer and fell boneless against his father. Regina was, surprisingly, quick to follow Roland to dreamland, her beautiful eyes falling shut before Robin reached the climax of the story. Her breathing had evened, her muscles relaxed, and Robin was grateful that she found sleep once more. Henry had held out the longest, waiting to hear how the brave knight and noble prince reunited the queen with her thief, his eyes not closing until the happily ever after.

“Roland’s right,” Henry had yawned, turning over onto his stomach. “You do tell good stories.” And then he had been out, leaving Robin to look upon the three most important people in his life. 

Three blessings laid out side by side, all sleeping safe and warm, calmed by the comfort their togetherness brings. Soothed into sleep by the sound of his voice, the steadiness of his words. Robin shifts until he’s laying on his side and stretches an arm out across Roland, fingertips curling around Regina’s arm, the backs of his knuckles brushing Henry’s elbow. He closes his eyes and breathes. Counts his blessings, one, two, three, and then joins them in sleep.


End file.
